LIFE 


-AT  — 


SHUT-IN   VALLEY 


AND   OTHER 


PACIFIC  COAST  TALES. 


CLARA  SPALDING  BROWN. 


COPYRIGHT,   1895. 

THE  EDITOR  PUBLISHING  CO., 
FRANKLIN,  (). 


CONTENTS : 


L,ife  at  Shut-in  Valley  .  5 

A  Strike  for  Eight  Hours 23 

Hearts  Are  Trumps 37 

A  Mid-day  Call  at  Miner's  Flat 53 

The  Mysterious  Miss  Aldeman 65 

The  School  -ma'am  of  Mineral  Hill 91 

The  Trials  of  Jonathan  Mollify 123 

Reuben  Hall's  Christmas 135 

Mrs.  Brighton's  Burglar 148 

Through  Night  to  Light 155 

That  Ugly  Man 165 

The  Awakening 170 


M105437 


To  the  Memory  of 

My  Brothers, 
Two  of  Nature' s  Noblemen. 


LIFE  AT  SHUT-IN  VALLEY. 


C  HUT-IN  VALLEY  lay  bathed  in  sunlight— the 
»J  bright,  intense  sunlight  of  California,  that  burns 
and  crisps  but  does  not  wilt.  Down  the  white,  wind 
ing  road  a  cloud  of  dust  betokened  the  swift  gallop 
of  a  stray  horseman — some  hunter,  probably,  or  a 
visitor  from  the  town,  twenty-five  miles  away,  to  one 
of  the  ranches  still  farther  up  the  mountains.  No 
further  sign  of  life  was  manifest,  save  in  the  door 
way  of  a  low,  weather-beaten  cabin  at  the  extreme 
lower  end  of  the  valley,  where  a  young  woman  in  a 
plain  calico  gown  stood,  with  her  deep  blue  eyes 
wearily  scanning  the  landscape.  Not  even  the  rude 
and  uninviting  setting  of  this  living  picture  could 
detract  from  its  plainly  apparent  claim  to  more  than 
ordinary  interest.  It  was  a  graceful  figure  and  a  high 
bred  face — delicate,  sensitive,  full  of  intelligence  and 
refinement,  of  sadness,  too,  as  its  owner  slowly  turned 
away  and  disappeared  from  sight. 

"  What  a  life  !  "  Marian  Curtis  was  saying  in  her 
heart.  "  How  can  I  endure  it  ?  " 

Five  years  ago  this  solitary  woman  had  been  a 

(5) 


r  ia  a  bustling  New  England  town. 
A  town  not  too  large  for  sociability  and  genuine 
enjoyment,  but  far  removed  from  the  dullness  and 
utter  isolation  of  her  present  life.  She  had  been  well 
known,  respected,  admired,  had  possessed  the  means 
to  gratify,  in  moderation,  her  aesthetic  tastes  and  to 
preserve  an  innate  fastidiousness  in  regard  to  apparel 
and  surroundings.  When  Harvey  Curtis,  a  prepos 
sessing  young  man,  from  what  the  Coolville  people 
denominated  l<  the  West  "  (albeit  the  territory  in  this 
case  was  the  State  of  Indiana),  came  to  visit  his  sis 
ter  in  her  Yankee  home,  and  without  much  loss  of 
time  proceeded  to  court  the  pretty  teacher  who 
chanced  to  be  boarding  in  the  house,  grumblings  sup 
pressed  but  heartfelt  were  heard  among  the  eligible 
masculines  native  to  the  town.  Miss  Hunter  had  no 
fortune  at  her  command,  and  even  "  worked  for  a  liv 
ing,"  yet  more  than  one  appreciative  resident  had 
been  known  to  declare  her  "  a  prize  for  any  man  ;" 
and  it  certainly  was  Miss  Hunter's  own  fault  that  she 
had  not,  ere  this,  exchanged  her  school  of  forty 
roguish,  restless  pupils  for  one  very  different  in 
requirements. 

She  abdicated  at  last,  in  favor  of  this  black- 
browed,  broad-shouldered  man  of  thirty,  whose  strong 
will  and  passionate  devotion  swept  away  every  objec 
tion.  And  for  a  year  after  their  marriage  she  was 


-7- 

happy.  Harvey  was  fond  and  proud  of  his  gentle 
young  wife,  his  means  were  amply  sufficient  for  their 
wants,  and  the  current  of  life  flowed  smoothly.  If 
Marian  at  times  noticed  little  things  that  jarred  upon 
her  finer  nature,  was  now  and  then  sensible  of  an 
indescribable  disappointment,  the  momentary  un 
pleasantness  was  so  speedily  followed  by  a  contrast 
ing  impression  that  she  gave  no  deep  thought  to  the 
matter,  but  dismissed  the  subject  with  the  reflection 
that  men  were  not  like  women,  and  doubtless  she  had 
expected  more  than  she  had  a  right  to  enjoy. 

Then  Harvey  took  the  California  fever.  At  first 
Marian  could  not  bear  to  hear  him  talk  about  it.  She 
was  one  of  those  who  can  not  lightly  break  home  ties, 
and  her  heart  fainted  within  her  when  she  contem 
plated  what  her  situation  would  be,  far  out  on  that 
strange  Pacific  Coast,  where  no  dear  familiar  features, 
save  her  husband's,  could  ever  meet  her  eye,  and  the 
great  distance  and  expense  of  the  journey  across  the 
continent  would  forbid  visits  to  the  "  old  folks  at 
home."  But  Harvey  had  the  fever  hard  and  strong. 
His  mind  was  really  set  upon  going,  and  the  winter 
being  an  unusually  severe  and  changeable  one,  Marian, 
never  very  robust,  began  to  cough. 

"  That  settles  it,  Marian,"  declared  Harvey;  "you 
must  go.  I  can't  let  consumption  get  hold  of  you." 
Even  Marian's  relatives  thought  it  best,  and  the  up- 


shot  of  it  all  was  that  just  as  the  June  roses  were 
bursting  into  bloom,  and  the  bright-breasted  robins 
were  twittering  gaily  in  the  cherry  trees,  she  bade  a 
sorrowful  good-bjre  to  the  old  haunts  she  loved  so 
well  and  turned  her  face  as  bravely  as  might  be 
toward  the  setting  sun.  "  I  have  my  husband,"  she 
thought,  trying  to  dispel  the  dark  cloud  over  her 
spirits;  "  I  can  be  happy  with  him  anywhere.  Cali 
fornia  must  be  a  lovely  place;  we  shall  soon  make 
friends,  and  all  will  be  well." 

In  due  time  the  tedious,  though  interesting 
journey  was  accomplished,  and  after  a  brief  survey  of 
San  Francisco  the  couple  took  passage  on  the  Ancon 
for  San  Diego.  Here  Harvey  had  an  acquaintance, 
and  the  climate  being  recommended  as  just  the  thing 
for  his  wife,  here  he  proposed  to  establish  a  home  in 
some  way  to  be  determined  upon  after  inspection  of 
the  place.  He  found  the  town  smaller  than  he  had 
anticipated,  with  no  promising  openings  for  business, 
San  Diego  being  a  sufferer  at  that  time  from  the 
unkept  promises  of  the  Texas  &  Pacific  Railway 
Company.  Several  months  passed  in  looking  over 
the  ground,  and  finally  Harvey  determined  to  buy  a 
ranch — the  best  thing  he  could  do,  people  said. 
Plant  it  in  wheat  and  he  could  have  an  income  the 
very  first  year,  besides  raising  his  own  garden  stuff, 
having  plenty  of  fresh  eggs  and  milk  and  butter, 


-9- 

even  honey,  as  most  of  the  ranchers  in  the  mountains 
had  at  least  a  few  stands  of  bees  Marian  was  soon 
induced  to  give  her  consent.  She  was  not  fond  of 
farm  life,  as  she  knew  it  in  the  East,  and  she  was 
averse  to  removing  so  far  away  from  any  settlement ; 
but  there  would  be  compensations  which  she  hoped 
would  make  life  enjoyable  in  spite  of  all  that  she 
disliked.  The  novelty  of  ranch  life  in  this  new 
country  was  interesting,  the  climate  was  delightful 
and  the  scenery  grand. 

So  the  bargain  was  struck,  and  the  Curtises 
moved  out  to  their  new  home  in  season  to  prepare 
the  ground  for  the  winter  seeding.  Harvey  had 
visited  the  ranch  several  times,  but  Marian  had  never 
accompanied  him.  It  was  a  long,  rough  road,  up 
narrow  canons,  down  steep  mountain  grades  and 
across  fertile  little  valleys  occupied  by  one  or  two 
small  h  uses,  to  the  spot  which  had  taken  Harvey's 
fancy ;  and,  as  Marian  had  not  been  feeling  at  all 
well,  she  had  contented  herself  with  listening  atten 
tively  to  her  husband's  eulogies  of  the  place,  and  had 
decided  that  if  he  found  it  satisfactory,  with  his 
superior  knowledge  of  what  was  requisite  in  a 
ranch,  she  would  like  it  very  well.  There  was  a 
house  to  live  in,  she  knew  that,  for  the  place  had 
been  occupied  by  a  man  with  quite  a  large  family, 
and  there  would  be  nothing  to  do  but  go  right  on 


—  10  — 

with  the  management  of  the  ranch — so  much  easier 
than  to  start  on  an  unimproved  place.  It  was  near 
nightfall  when  their  tired  horses  ascended  the  rough 
grade  that  led  up  to  Shut-in-Valley,  and  Marian 
understood  the  name  with  a  new  significance,  as  she 
beheld  the  narrow  opening  between  two  great  masses 
of  rock  and  earth  that  formed  the  only  means  of 
access  to  the  valley  from  the  direction  of  San  Diego ; 
and  later  realized  that  there  was  only  one  way  out — at 
the  other  end — a  still  more  tortuous  and  precipitous 
path  than  the  one  toward  town,  leading  only  to  some 
lonely  valleys  on  a  higher  level.  She  never  got  over 
the  impression  of  prison  walls  that  those  rugged, 
inclosing  mountains  gave  her.  They  were  grand  in 
their  outlines,  beautiful  often  in  their  changing  lights 
and  shadows,  but  they  confined  a  restless  soul, 
imposed  insurmountable  barriers  between  her  and 
what  her  heart  held  dear. 

She  could  scarcely  believe  her  eyes  when  they 
stopped  before  a  rude,  uupainted  cabin  beside  the 
road,  a  large  chimney  of  stones  standing  conspicu 
ously  at  one  end,  and  Harvey  laughingly  told  her 
that  this  was  "  home."  In  her  wildest  flights  of 
fancy  she  had  never  dreamed  of  occupying  a  structure 
like  that — why,  it  was  no  better  than  a  lumberman's 
shanty  in  the  Maine  pine  woods,  or  than  her  father's 
woodshed — not  half  so  good  as  the  barns  of  her  own 


—  II  — 

country.     Harvey    was   amused    by   her  crest-fallen 
countenance.     "  L,ooks  rather  rough,  don't  it,  Marie? 
But  what  do  we  care — we'll  enjoy  ranching  j  ust  the  same, 
and  after  the  first  harvest  we'll  have  a  new  house." 
Harvey  did  "  enjoy  ranching;  "  he  developed  more 
and  more  a  taste  for  out-door  pursuits,  was  interested 
heart  and  soul  in  the  improvement  and  progress  of 
the  place,  and  often  declared  that   he  didn't  know 
what^true  enjoyment  was  until  he  came  to  California 
— he  wouldn't  go  back  East  for  all  the  farms  in  the 
country.     But   strangely   enough,   all   the   improve 
ments  were  confined  to  the  fields,  stock,  agricultural 
implements,  etc.     The  first  harvest  and  yet  another, 
passed  successfully  by;  the  yield  being  good  on  these 
upper   levels,   even   when  nearly  a  failure   in   drier 
localities,  and  the  quality  of  the  wheat  being  so  good 
that  the  crop  was  readily  engaged  at  a  fair  price  by 
the  managers  of  the  flour  mill  in  San  Diego.     Yet 
there  was  no  "new  house."     It  took  Harvey  but  a 
few  days  to  adapt  himself  to  circumstances,  as  men 
can  so  much  more  readily  than  women,  and  he  soon 
forgot  that  any  changes  were  desirable.     Alas !  that 
I  must  say  it,  but  Marian  had  a  grievance  much  worse 
than  this;  he  also   forgot,  gradually  but  surely,  to 
give  his  wife  those  demonstrations  of  affection  always 
needed  by  a  sensitive,  sympathetic-natured  woman, 
and  doubly  called  for  in  a  situation  like  Marian's. 


He  was  happy  and  content,  and  he  torgot  that 
he  had  taken  his  wife  away  from  all  her  people  to 
associations  that  were  repugnant.  He  was  engrossed 
in  his  ranch  work,  and  he  forgot  that  his  wife  was 
wearing  her  heart  out  in  loneliness  and  lack  of  auy- 
ihing  to  satisfy  her  soul  hunger.  It  suited  him  to  find 
the  unsightly  cabin  as  neat  as  soap  and  water  could 
make  it,  and  well-cooked  meals  upon  the  long  table 
that  did  duty  for  master  and  mistress,  Mexican  and 
Indian  "hands"  alike;  to  see  Marian  moving  about 
with  her  graceful  step,  and  face  flushed  with  the 
warm  air  of  the  kitchen ;  and  he  forgot  that  "  man's 
love  is  of  his  life  a  thing  apart,  'tis  woman's  whole 
existence." 

And  so  he  starved  her.  Yes,  I  say  he  starved 
her  !  If  he  had  withheld  the  food  necessary  to  sustain 
her  drooping  body,  would  not  judge  and  jury  have 
solemnly  asserted  his  guilt  in  not  providing  suste 
nance  ?  What  is  the  body  compared  to  that  mysterious 
marvel,  that  breath  of  life,  termed  the  eoul?  And  if 
all  that  feeds  and  nourishes  this  finest,  most  essential 
part  of  humanity  is  taken  away,  what  ensues  but 
starvation  ?  In  the  great  recording  book,  kept  by  the 
angels,  is  marked  down  case  after  case  of  Iran's 
injustice  and  shortcoming  on  points  that  never  come 
before  a  mortal  tribunal. 

Marian  Curtis  was  not  a  feeble-minded  woman 


nor  one  inclined  to  fretful  complaints.  One  by  one 
she  gave  up  her  cherished  hopes  and  stoutly  held  on 
to  what  was  left,  until  she  could  no  longer  avoid  see 
ing  that  the  glamour  of  sentiment  existing  for  a  brief 
period  after  their  union  had  entirely  passed  away 
from  her  husband.  She  tried  not  to  doubt  his  affection 
for  her,  but  something  was  lacking — something  so 
very  vital  that  each  day  was  a  renewed  disappoint 
ment,  and  her  unhappiness  constantly  increased. 
She  did  not  let  him  go  without  a  struggle.  Longing 
for  a  tender  caress,  anxious  to  show  her  depth  of  love, 
she  often  laid  her  arm  about  his  neck,  or  paused  to 
give  him  a  gentle  kiss,  only  to  be  pained  afresh  by  the 
carelessness  with  which  her  endearments  were 
received.  There  was  no  more  heart  talk  between 
them,  no  quick  responsiveness  of  the  soul.  Harvey 
was  seldom  cross  with  her,  though  inconsiderate  fre 
quently.  The  trouble  was  that  she  was  simply  a 
housekeeper. 

What  had  she  to  atone  for  her  deprivations  ?  The 
nearest  postoffice  or  church  was  at  San  Diego  ;  there 
were  no  neighbors  within  a  mile  on  either  hand.  The 
first  one  toward  town  conducted  an  apiary,  and  was  a 
crusty  old  bachelor,  who  seldom  showed  his  face  in 
Shut-in-Valley.  The  nearest  one  in  the  other  direction 
was  a  soured,  ignorant  man,  whose  wife  had  left  him, 
and  who  spent  his  time  pattering  over  a  small  ranch 


in  the  valley  above.  There  was  nothing  fresh  to 
read,  except  an  occasional  package  of  papers  well  out 
of  date  by  the  time  they  were  obtained  from  the  post- 
office. 

She  could  not  ride,  for  the  horses  were  always 
busy  in  the  fields,  hauling  wood  from  the  mountain 
side,  or  on  the  road  to  town  with  a  heavy  load.  She 
soon  tired  of  walking  up  and  down  the  one  white  road 
of  the  valley,  bordered  on  either  side  by  waving  wheat 
and  barley ;  and  she  missed  the  beautiful  clumps  of 
live-oak  trees  that  had  been  felled  to  give  place  to  the 
monotonous  stretch  of  grain.  The  original  owner  of 
the  ranch  had  apparently  taken  considerable  pains  to 
build  the  shelter  that  served  him  for  a  home,  as  remote 
as  possible  from  any  shade  except  that  cast  upon  it  by 
the  overhanging  heights  when  the  sun  was  still  high 
in  the  heavens,  where  it  remained  with  its  chilling 
influence  until  a  new  day  was  far  advanced.  Marian 
did  not  object  to  the  cold  nights,  but  welcomed  the 
creeping  shadow  as  a  relief  from  the  intensity  of  the 
mid-day  heat  which  fell  unobstructed  upon  the  frail 
cabin.  The  first  time  that  she  yielded  to  a  passionate 
desire  to  scale  what  she  grew  to  consider  her  "  prison 
walls,"  and  see  what  lay  beyond,  she  was  so  terror- 
stricken  by  the  sight  of  a  great  rattlesnake  lying 
across  her  path  that  she  never  ventured  again.  And 
so  her  life  became  hemmed  in  until  the  exasperated 


-  15- 

spirit  beat  exhaustingly  against  the  earthly  frame 
that  confined  it,  and,  unnoticed  by  her  busy  husband, 
Marian  failed  daily.  Not  in  the  way  that  had  been 
apprehended  when  she  left  the  East,  for  the  health- 
giving  atmosphere  of  California  had  long  ago  cured 
the  incipient  cough,  but  in  a  puzzling,  almost  imper 
ceptible  manner  that  would  have  occasioned  anxiety 
on  the  part  of  a  close  observer. 

One  day  Harvey  and  his  crew  of  swarthy-hued 
"  hands  "  came  flocking  into  the  long,  low  kitchen  and 
found  no  supper  ready.  Astonished  search  in  every 
nook  of  the  limited  quarters  revealed  no  wife.  She 
couldn't  have  "  gone  a-gaddin',''  like  housewives  in 
thickly  settled  communities,  and  it  wasn't  like  her  to 
remain  away  from  her  post  for  any  cause.  Harvey 
went  out  to  the  road  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs.  Nothing  but  an  echo  answered  him. 

Beginning  to  be  alarmed,  he  sent  the  men  out  in 
various  directions  to  look  for  Marian,  taking  himself 
the  winding  road  that  led  down  the  canon  to  Simms' 
apiary;  here  were  trees  and,  at  this  season,  bright 
flowers  in  the  canon,  and  possibly  Marian  had  gone 
thither  to  gather  a  bouquet,  and  had  met  with  some 
mishap.  He  had  not  walked  far  when  he  heard  some 
one  shouting  for  him  to  return.  "  Oh,  she  has  come," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  What  a  simpleton  I  was  to  get 
frightened  about  nothing." 


—  i6  — 

"  Sacaton  has  found  her,  down  by  the  pool,"  said 
his  up-valley  neighbor,  "  old  Miggs,"  who  was  helping 
Curtis  harvest  his  wheat. 

'Wh-what's  the  matter?"  stammered  the  now 
thoroughly  aroused  husband,  striding  post  haste  along 
the  diminutive  stream  that  flowed  at  the  rear  of  the 
cabin,  to  where  it  fell  half  a  dozen  feet  and  widened 
into  a  shallow  basin  fringed  with  willows.  It  was  the 
one  spot  in  all  the  neighborhood  that  reminded  Marian 
of  New  England,  and  she  often  sat  dreamily  watching 
the  water  as  it  trickled  over  the  mossy  stones,  and  lis 
tened  to  its  music  while  it  flowed  onward  to  the  gentle 
Sweet  Water,  far  below  Shut-in-Valley,  thence  to  be 
carried  to  the  mighty  Pacific. 

Sacaton — one  of  the  half-breeds — had  sometimes 
seen  her  sitting  there,  and  at  once  sought  the  pool,  to 
find  a  white-faced  woman  lying  prone  upon  the  ground, 
as  oblivious  to  what  was  passing  around  her  as  the 
dead.  Harvey  Curtis  did  not  know  but  that  she  was 
dead  when  he  caught  sight  of  that  inanimate  face, 
and  noted  the  needle-work  at  her  feet.  No  one  could 
look  at  that  drawn  countenance  and  fancy  its  owner 
sleeping.  What  could  it  be  ?  She  had  made  no  com 
plaints  at  noon,  hadn't  said  much,  anyway,  Harvey 
remembered  vaguely,  but  seemed  about  as  usual. 
"  As  usual !  "  how  many  heart-breaks  are  covered  by 
that  stereotyped  phrase ! 


—  17  — 

"My  God!  "  he  cried,  ere  he  fairly  reached  his 
wife,  "old  Miggs "  scrambling  after  and  the  half- 
breeds  gathering  around  in  respectful  solicitude.  "  Do 
you  suppose  a  rattler  has  stiuck  her?"  Harvey 
raised  the  light  figure  and  gazed  widly  into  the  pallid 
face.  "No,"  asserted  Miggs;  "that  ain't  no  snake 
bite.  She'd  be  all  swoll'd  up  an'  blacker'n  a  thunder 
cloud.  She's  swounded." 

It  was  such  a  swoon  as  Harvey  had  never  seen 
before.  He  worked  long  and  vainly  to  restore  con 
sciousness  after  he  laid  Marian  upon  her  bed,  while 
Sacaton  urged  the  best  horse  in  the  corral  to  its  fleet 
est  speed,  commissioned  to  summon  the  first  physi 
cian  that  could  be  induced  to  go  so  far  from  San 
Diego. 

When  at  last  her  eyelids  fluttered  and  opened  for 
an  instant,  Harvey's  heart  went  out  in  a  cry  of 
"Marian,  darling!"  But  there  was  no  gleam  of 
responding  love  in  the  large  eyes,  the  nerveless  hand 
lay  passively  in  his  clasp.  A  sigh  of  utter  weariness, 
and  again  the  lids  were  closed,  only  the  feeble,  irregu 
lar  breath  testifying  that  some  faint  consciousness 
remained.  She  did  not  rouse  much  during  the  night. 
At  daybreak  a  physician  arrived,  guided  along  the 
dangerous  grades  by  the  faithful  Sacaton.  He 
remained  with  his  patient  until  after  noon,  and  talked 
scientifically  about  "  nervous  prostration,"  "  collapse 


—  i8  — 

of  the  vital  forces,"  etc.,  expressing  his  belief  that 
she  would  "  pull  through"  with  careful  nursing;  it 
Wasn't  medicine  she  needed  so  much  as  rest  and  ten 
der  care.  He  would  send  out  Miss  ,  the  best 

nurse  in  the  town  and  a  creditable  nurse  for  any  town, 
and  she'd  build  Mrs.  Curtis  right  up.  "  So  chirk  up, 
man,"  the  doctor  cried  cheerfully,  mounting  his  tall, 
white  horse.  "  She's  down  flat,  sure  enough,  but 
'tisn't  as  though  she  was  wild  with  fever  or  gone  with 
some  organic  disease  There's  been  too  much  strain 
upon  her,  and  she's  given  away,  that's  all." 

Harvey  did  not  seem  to  understand  the  doctor's 
reasoning.  He  had  not  been  aware  of  any  particular 
strain — thought,  on  the  whole,  Marian  had  an  easier 
time  of  it  than  he  did.  To  be  sure,  she  wasn't  weaned 
from  New  England  yet  and  she  was  lonesome  some 
times,  but  that  didn't  seem  sufficient  to  account  for 
such  a  crisis.  He  was  destined  to  comprehend  in 
some  measure  what  his  wife  had  passed  through,  in 
the  next  two  weeks ;  for,  although  the  nurse  came  at 
once  and  took  up  her  duties  with  the  skill  of  a  master 
hand,  Harvey  was  too  anxious  about  this  new,  strange 
being,  that  was  a  very  wraith  of  the  old  Marian,  to 
stay  away  from  her  long,  and  in  her  weakness  and  but 
partial  sensibility  words  dropped  from  her  lips  that 
had  never  before  found  utterance.  She  moaned  about 
the  "  old  times,"  the  gray-haired  father  and  mother, 


—  19  — 

the  sweet-scented  forests  and  murmuring  streams  of 
loved  "  Yankee-land."  She  hopelessly  referred  to  their 
life  in  Shut-in-Valley  and  said  it  was  not  worth  the 
struggle  and  that  she  did  not  want  to  live. 

One  day  Harvey  sat  beside  her,  thinking  very 
intently  of  her  broken  sentences,  and  questioning  if 
he  had  really  been  blind  to  what  should  have  been 
his  dearest  interest.  Marian  suddenly  opened  her 
eyes  and  as  suddenly  spoke  out,  more  clearly  and 
forcibly  than  since  her  illness  began.  "  Why  did  you 
stop  loving  me?  "  she  queried. 

Harvey  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  "My  dear, 
what  a  strange  question  !  I  love  you  with  all  my 
heart." 

"No  you  don't,"  Marian  persisted  querulously; 
"  if  you  did  you'd  show  it.  I'm  tired  of  being  a 
machine,  to  plod  along  here  without  any  heart  or 
soul.  I  want  to  be  petted  sometimes  and  cared  for, 
and  treated  as  if  nobody  could  take  my  place.  I 
didn't  think  this  was  what  you  married  me  for."  She 
could  say  no  more ;  her  momentary  strength  was 
gone,  and  she  lay  sobbing  childishly,  heedless  of  his 
attempts  to  comfort  her,  his  earnest  assertion  that  no 
one  ever  could  take  her  place. 

The  nurse  came  in  and  ordered  him  away,  but 
he  took  with  him  a  host  of  disturbing  thoughts,  and 
for  several  days  went  around  in  silence,  until  he 


—  20  — 

acknowledged  himself  guilty  of  much  that  his  wife 
had  alleged.  Brought  face  to  face  with  the  possibility 
of  losing  her,  he  realized  how  valueless  everything  else 
in  life  was,  after  all,  compared  with  her,  and  resolved 
that  he  would  begin  at  once  to  do  all  that  lay  in  his 
power  to  obliterate  the  impressions  of  the  past  years 
Dormant  emotions  now  rose  triumphant  over  all  that 
had  previously  actuated  him,  and  in  his  courting 
days  he  had  not  felt  more  anxious  to  win  Marian's 
favor  than  now  that  she  lay  a  wreck  of  her  former 
self  in  that  little  cabin  at  Shut-in-Valley.  It  was 
difficult  at  first  to  convince  her  of  his  affection  and 
penitence  for  the  past.  She  did  not  appear  to  hear 
half  that  he  said,  and  laughed  scornfully  when  he 
did  gain  her  attention.  But  as  she  improved  in  mind 
and  body,  she  noticed  that  a  strong  arm  was  ready  to 
support  her,  a  kind  voice  soothed  her  when  she  was 
restless,  and  soft  kisses  frequently  fell  upon  her  brow. 
Gradually  a  sense  of  happiness,  of  satisfaction,  stole 
into  her  heart.  Her  eyes  grew  bright,  her  cheeks 
flushed  faintly  as  she  gazed  upon  her  husband's  face 
and  saw  the  light  of  love  there.  The  incubus  that 
had  rested  upon  her  rolled  away  and  dissolved  like  a 
vapor.  It  was  worth  while  to  be  sick,  she  thought, 
just  to  lie  there  and  be  made  much  of,  like  an  over 
grown  baby. 

This   was   several   years  ago.     San    Diego   is  a 


—  21  — 

thriving  place  now,  and  growing  rapidly.  The  coun 
try  is  settled  up  with  intelligent  farmers.  Many  a 
beautiful  home  is  nestled  amid  fragrant  orange  trees 
and  surrounded  by  a  wealth  of  exquisite  flowers. 
Shut-in-Valley  has  not  changed  in  appearance  much, 
on  the  whole,  yet  there  have  been  many  improve 
ments.  The  old  cabin  has  disappeared.  Shaded  by 
graceful  pepper  trees,  stands  a  pretty  cottage  with 
broad  verandas  covered  with  clinging  vines  and  a 
profusion  of  roses.  All  around  are  fruit  trees  of  many 
varieties.  Within  are  dainty  rooms,  a  small  piano, 
and  a  goodly  number  of  books  and  periodicals.  Out 
in  the  stable  a  sturdy  Indian  pony  is  munching 
his  barley,  preparatory  to  taking  his  mistress  on 
a  long  jaunt  over  the  hills.  A  veritable  little  cay- 
euse  is  he— trustworthy  on  the  steepest  -trails  and 
fond  of  following  Marian  about  when  allowed  to  go 
loose.  Marian  is  not  unhappy  now,  even  on  this 
secluded  ranch.  She  does  not  expect  to  live  there 
always,  and  in  many  ways  she  and  Harvey  contrive 
to  bring  diversion  and  pleasure  into  their  routine  of 
existence.  Though  Harvey  is  not  so  well  constituted 
as  some  men,  perhaps,  to  discern  the  inmost  recesses 
of  her  nature,  he  is  true  and  honest  and  loving,  and 
finds  it  so  pleasant  to  demonstrate  his  affection  for 
Marian's  pleasure  that  he  could  no  longer  be  happy 
himself  without  so  doing. 


—  22  — 

"  After  all,  life  hi  Shut  in-Valley  is  real  enjoy 
able,"  said  Marian,  the  other  day,  as  they  galloped 
down  the  road  to  the  cottage  and  a  bevy  of  excited 
dogs  rushed  to  greet  them.  "  I  just  love  these  grand 
old  mountains  now,  and  when  father  and  mother  come 
out  next  winter  they'll  hardly  know  me,  I've  grown 
so  well  and — yes,  so  brown,  '  a-ranching  it.'  Won't 
it  be  nice  if  we  can  induce  them  to  stay?" 


A  STRIKE  FOR  EIGHT  HOURS. 


carpenters  struck  for  eight  hours  to-night, 
1  Martha.  There'll  be  no  more  work  done  till 
the  builders  come  to  our  terms." 

Mrs.  Dayton  looked  across  the  table  at  her  hus 
band,  with  a  dubious  expression  on  her  face. 

' '  Do  you  think  they  will  give  in  ?  I  am  afraid 
you  will  be  out  of  work  some  time  " 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  am  ;  eight  hours  are  enough  for 
anybody  to  work,  and  it's  time  the  people  who  have 
to  do  the  labor  of  this  world  showed  some  spunk  and 
rebelled  against  being  tied  down  to  one  eternal  grind." 

"  But  you  will  lose  three  dollars  a  day,  and  we 
don't  want  to  run  in  debt.  Mouths  must  be  fed,  you 
know,  just  the  same,  and  the  children's  shoes — " 

"  There  you  go,  borrowing  trouble  right  and  left ! 
What's  the  use  of  trying  to  cross  a  bridge  before  you 
come  to  it  ?  I  guess  there  will  be  a  way  provided." 

Mrs.  Dayton  said  no  more,  but  she  looked  anx 
ious  as  she  cleared  away  the  tea  things,  put  the  chil 
dren  to  bed,  and  finally  sat  down  to  a  big  basket  of 
mending,  just  as  her  husband's  snores  began  to  pene- 

(23) 


—  24  — 

trate  the  sitting-room  from  the  adjoining  bedroom. 
She  was  very  tired,  but  she  could  not  think  of  going 
to  bed  before  1 1  o'clock.  There  was  always  just  so 
much  to  be  done,  and  only  one  pair  of  hands  to  do 
it  all. 

Eight  hours  a  day's  work  !  Mrs.  Dayton  smiled 
grimly.  What  would  become  of  the  work  in  that 
house  if  she  "  rebelled  against  being  tied  down  to  one 
eternal  grind?"  Six  children,  the  eldest  but  twelve 
years  of  age,  the  youngest  an  ailing  baby  whom  she 
sometimes  feared  did  not  receive  due  attention,  with 
so  many  other  cares  devolving  upon  her  from  early 
morning  until  late  at  night ;  and  Mrs.  Dayton  was  not 
robust — never  had  been.  She  could  not  "turn  off" 
her  work  as  some  women  do,  but  she  did  the  best  she 
could,  without  complaining. 

"  If  Silas  has  made  up  his  mind  not  to  go  back 
to  work,  nothing  I  can  say  will  change  it,"  she  mused. 
"There's  one  good  thing  about  it— if  he  is  going  to 
be  at  home,  he  can  help  me  in  a  number  of  ways." 

Comforted  a  little  by  this  reflection,  she  plied  her 
needle  with  renewed  vigor,  and  at  last  crept  wearily 
into  bed,  partially  arousing  her  husband,  who  mut 
tered,  testily,  "Don't  talk  to  me!  I  tell  you,  eight 
hours  are  enough,"  then  turned  over  and  started  a 
new  series  of  snores. 

"  Do  you    mind   holding   baby   a   few    minutes, 


-25  - 

Silas,  while  I  skim  the  milk?"  queried  Mrs.  Dayton, 
after  breakfast  the  next  morning. 

Silas  had  settled  himself  into  his  chair  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  all  day  before  him  and  owns  no 
man  for  a  master. 

"Hold  baby!"  he  ejaculated.  "  Do  you  think 
I'm  here  to  do  women's  work?  I  guess  when  I  get  a 
day  off  I'm  going  to  enjoy  it." 

"  He's  sick  with  a  tooth  coming  through,  or  I 
shouldn't  have  asked  it.  I  really  don't  know  how  I 
can  attend  to  my  work  and  care  for  him  as  I  ought. 
There,  there,  poor  little  dear,  don't  cry." 

"  Well,  if  this  is  the  sort  of  racket  I've  got  to  lis 
ten  to,  I'll  clear  out.  Great  Scott !  just  hear  him 
yell !  I  thought  I  was  going  to  have  a  little  peace  in 
my  own  house.  You  needn't  wait  dinner  for  me  — I 
don't  know  when  I'll  get  back." 

The  irate  man  hurriedly  got  out  his  fishing  tackle 
and  strode  off  to  the  nearest  wharf.  The  Daytons 
lived  on  the  outskirts  of  a  large  seaport,  had  their  own 
little  cottage,  a  cow  and  chickens,  and  were  altogether 
very  pleasantly  situated.  Mr.  Dayton  was  a  good 
husband  in  most  respects,  and  would  have  stared  in 
amazement  if  any  one  had  suggested  that  he  was  not 
always  perfectly  kind  to  his  wife.  He  was  thought 
less,  like  many  other  men  who  do  not  stop  to  consider 
how  manifold  the  duties  of  a  housekeeper  are.  He 


—  26  — 

would  have  scouted  the  notion  that  his  wife  worked 
harder  than  he  did,  and  the  idea  of  lightening  her 
burdens  in  any  way  had  never  occurred  to  him. 

Mrs.  Dayton  had  trained  her  children  to  be  use 
ful  to  some  extent,  but  the  oldest  was  a  boy,  and  his 
ten-year-old  sister  could  only  render  some  assistance 
in  dressing  the  little  ones  mornings,  and  do  a  few 
chores  after  school  at  night.  The  week  passed  by,  and 
Mrs.  Dayton  was  disappointed  in  her  hope  of  deriv 
ing  any  benefit  from  her  husband's  idleness.  If  she 
asked  him  to  repair  something  about  the  house  he 
would  do  it  to-morrow,  but  to-morrow  came  and  it 
was  not  done.  When  churning-time  came  he  was  not 
to  be  found.  He  never  seemed  to  notice  when  she 
lifted  heavy  kettles  of  water  or  emptied  the  wash-tubs, 
and  she  strained  her  arms  as  usual  putting  up  the 
clothes-line.  Seeing  how  disinclined  he  was  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  domestic  affairs,,  she  ceased 
asking  for  his  help. 

Silas  Dayton  was  enjoying  his  vacation.  He  was 
a  good  workman  and  he  meant  to  make  the  most  of 
his  leisure ;  so  he  read  and  he  smoked,  took  naps  in 
the  hammock  and  indulged  in  long  gossips  over  the 
fence  with  neighbor  Jones,  a  professional  man  whose 
office  hours  were  short.  Did  you  ever  notice  how 
fond  the  average  man  is  of  gossip  ?  He  likes  to  have 
his  fling  about  the  chattering  of  women,  but  at  heart 


-27- 

he  relishes  a  bit  of  news.  When  Almira  Smith 
becomes  engaged  to  be  married,  or  her  father  sells  his 
pasture  lot,  or  Jim  Downs  gets  a  clerkship  in  a  store, 
he  is  always  glad  to  hear  about  it,  andftwo  men  can 
beat  any  two  women  of  my  acquaintance  in  holding*  a 
protracted  sidewalk  meeting. 

Martha  Dayton  lay  awake  nights  and  thought. 
Saturday  morning  she  arose  with  an  unaccustomed 
look  of  determination  on  her  face.  In  'a  way  that 
ordinarily~mild  women  sometimes  have,  she  had  sud 
denly  become  firm  as  a  rock  in  her  resolution  to  adopt 
a  new  course  of  conduct.  "  I'll  begin  at  6  o'clock," 
she  said  to  herself.  The  work  was  accomplished 
magically  that  day  ;  every  step  was  made  to  count, 
every  minute  was  used  to  advantage.  By  3  o'clock 
the  house  was  in  order  and  a  generous  baking  adorned 
the  pantry  shelves. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Dayton  came  in  and  found 
his  wife  sitting  in  the  parlor,  with  her  new  gingham 
dress  on,  reading  the  morning  paper,  while  the  baby 
crowed  on  a  rug  at  her  feet. 

l<  Expecting  company?"  he  inquired. 

"  No,  I'm  just  resting." 

It  was  something  new^for  Martha  Dayton  to  be 
"  resting  "  in  the  daytime,  and  it  had  been  years  since 
she  had  "  fixed  up  "  like  that,  except  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  she  went  out  somewhere. 


When  the  supper  was  served,  Mr.  Dayton  missed 
some  of  the  usual  accessories  of  the  meal.  No  hot 
biscuit,  no  baked  potatoes  or  nicely  broiled  chops — 
nothing  warm  but  the  tea,  which  had  been  made  on 
the  oil  stove. 

"How's  this?"  he  grumbled.  "Ain't  you  cut 
ting  us  short  to-night  with  your  cold  victuals  ?  I  like 
a  hot  supper." 

"  Oh,  I've  struck,"  replied  Mrs.  Dayton  in  a 
serio-comic  tone.  "  I've  come  to  your  conclusion 
that  eight  hours  are  enough  for  any  one  to  work,  and 
that  it  is  time  to  rebel  against  an  eternal  grind.  It 
will  necessitate  some  changes,  but  since  you  are 
firmly  convinced  of  the  right  of  the  matter,  of  course 
you  will  be  willing  to  put  up  with  the  inconvenience 
of  it,  as  I  have  to  with  the  loss  of  your  wages  on 
account  of  the  same  principle."  That  was  a  long 
speech  for  Martha  Dayton  to  make.  Silas  glared  at 
her  with  open  mouth.  She  looked  smiling  and  at 
ease,  not  at  all  as  if  she  were  bereft  of  her  senses.  It 
wasn't  like  her  to  joke,  but  she  must  be  "  running  " 
now.  Trying  to  be  smart,  eh.?  He  didn't  quite 
like  it. 

"  What  rigmarole  are  you  getting  off  now?1'  he 
said  rather  roughly.  "If  you  took  a  lazy  streak  and 
didn't  want  to  cook  a  good  supper,  why  don't  you 
come  right  out  and  say  so,  not  throw  up  that  eight- 


-29- 

hour  business  to  me?  Man's  work  isn't  woman's 
work.  You  just  attend  to  your  cooking  and  baby- 
tending,  and  I'll  see  to  my  carpentering." 

"  You  think  I  don't  mean  it,  Silas,  but  I  do.  My 
work  is  just  as  hard  as  yours,  and  more  wearing  to 
the  nerves.  Hereafter  I  shall  consider  eight  hours  of 
constant  labor  a  day's  work,  and  outside  of  that  I 
shall  do  only  what  can  not  be  avoided.  A  woman 
needs  time  for  rest  and  recreation  just  as  much  as  a 
man  does,  and  the  way  I  have  been  living  it  has  been 
impossible  to  be  anything  more  than  a  mere  house 
keeping  machine.  I  should  like  to  improve  my  mind 
a  little." 

"You  ain't  turning  woman  suffragist,  I  hope. 
I'll  bet  that  Miss  Skinner  has  been  talking  to  you." 
Miss  Skinner  was  a  somewhat  noted  platform  speaker 
who  lived  near  the  Daytons. 

"  No  one  has  been  talking  to  me,  and  this  has 
nothing  to  do  with  suffrage.  It  seems  that  when  you 
said  '  people  '  you  meant  '  men,'  giving  no  thought  to 
women  ;  but  I  fail  to  see  why  they  should  not  be 
included  in  the  labor  question." 

Mrs.  Dayton  had  not  been  a  self-assertive  woman, 
and  her  husband  gave  but  little  thought  to  her  unex 
pected  outbreak.  He  attributed  it  to  a  "  cantanker 
ous  spell "  which  would  not  last  long.  A  strike  of 
housekeepers !  Refusal  to  work  more  than  eight 


-  30  - 

hours  a  day  !  It  was  absurd,  ridiculous.  I  am  not 
sure  but  Silas  Dayton  went  farther  in  his  thoughts 
and  pronounced  it  lazy;  for  what  did  woman's  work 
amount  to,  anyhow,  compared  to  the  hard  tussles  of 
a  man  with  the  world  ? 

The  subject  was  not  mentioned  the  next  morn 
ing,  when  they  partook  of  the  usual  Sunday  break 
fast  of  beans  and  brown  bread.  Mr.  Dayton,  who 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  attending  church,  started  out 
for  a  stroll  about  town.  Mrs.  Dayton  very  seldom 
went,  as  she  generally  had  a  baby  too  small  to  leave. 
To  please  Silas,  it  was  her  custom  to  prepare  the 
most  bountiful  meal  of  the  week  for  Sunday  after 
noon,  and  the  day  of  rest  often  left  her  so  fatigued 
that  it  was  an  effort  to  begin  anew  on  Monday'morn- 
ing.  If  any  one  called,  she  was  not  fit  to  receive 
them  in  her  working  garb  and  with  her  heated  face. 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  when  Silas  returned. 
"Who  has  he  brought  home  now?"  wondered  the 
little  woman  as  she  heard  strange  voices.  Silas  often 
brought  people  home  with  him  to  the', Sunday  dinner  ; 
he  was  hospitable,  and  he  knew  that  there  would  be 
an  abundance  of  good  things^to  eat. 

"  I  ran  across  my  old  friend  Jabez- Hunter  and 
his  wife,''  he  explained,  as  Martha  went  into  the  front 
hall.  "  Haven't  seen  them  for  years.  They've  got  a 
farm  only  twenty  miles  from  here,  it  seems,  and 


they've  been  to  town  time  and  again,  and  didn't 
know  we  were  living  here." 

Martha  was  shaking  hands  with  a  stout,  fresh- 
faced  man  and  a  large,  comfortable-looking  woman, 
and  Jabez  was  declaring  that  he  knew  Si.  in  a  minute* 
and  he  was  mighty  glad  to  see  Si's  wife  and  the 
babies. 

"  Si.  haint  changed  hardly  any,"  he  continued, 
"  but  you  ain't  lookin'  well.  Kind  o'  dragged  out, 
ain't  ye  ?  Better  come  out  to  the  farm ;  we'll  fat 
you  up." 

Silas  was  secretly  pleased  to  see  that  his  wife 
was  neatly  dressed,  and  seemed  less  "put  out"  than 
usual  by  company.  Jabez  Hunter  had  been  one  of 
his  best  friends  in  the  old  days,  and  now  that  Jabez 
had  the  air  of  being  well  used  by  the  world,  Silas  was 
anxious  to  have  his  wife,  children  and  home  appear 
in  a  favorable  light. 

Soon  Mrs.  Dayton  called  them  into  the  dining- 
room  where  the  long  table  was  spread,  and  the  child 
ren  already  seated  in  their  places,  the  baby  industri 
ously  drumming  with  a  spoon  on  his  waiter.  With 
pride,  Silas  named  his  boys  and  girls,  who  were 
embarrassed  just  enough  to  make  their  behavior 
unobtrusive. 

"  By  George,  Si,  you're  a  rich  man  with  such  a 
family  as  this, ".exclaimed  Jabez.  "Don't  it  do  your 


—  32  — 

heart  good  to  look  around  and  see  'em  ?  I  tell  Lucy 
sometimes  its  pretty  lonesome  for  us  out  on  that  big 
farm  where  youngsters  would  have  such  a  good  time. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  fishing  in  my  trout  brook, 
young  man  ?  "  addressing  Jack,  the  oldest  boy. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy,  with  a  broad  grin. 
By  this  time  all  were  settled,  and  Silas'  face  wore  a 
look  of  blank  astonishment  and  dismay.  Cold  meat, 
cold  bread,  berries,  cake  and  a  cold  custard  pudding. 

"  My  wife,  it  seems,  has  made  a  change  in  the 
bill  of  fare,"  he  finally  said  ill-humoredly ;  "  we  are 
in  the  habit  of  having  a  good  Sunday  dinner." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  the  matter  with  this," 
declared  Mrs.  Hunter. 

"  Silas  has  forgotten  that  I've  struck,"  said  Mrs. 
Dayton.  "  I've  adopted  the  eight  hour  plan,  and  no 
unnecessary  work  on  Sunday.  Men  don't  work  Sun 
days — why  should  women  when  they  can  avoid  it  ?  " 

Silas'  face  was  red  with  suppressed  wrath.  A 
pretty  impression  of  things  his  friends  would  get ! 

Jabez  Hunter  gazed  at  Mrs.  Dayton  admiringly. 
Given  half  a  chance,  she  would  be  a  pretty  woman. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  chuckled.  "  Struck?  Come 
now,  that's  good.  Why  shouldn't  women  strike  as 
well  as  men?  I'm  sure  they  have  more  to  put  up 
with.  I  hain't  never  let  my  wife  grub  all  day  long 
and  half  the  night  as  lots  of  'em  do.  Have  I,  L,ucy  ? 


-33- 

And  Sundays  we  don't  do  nothin'  at  our  house  that 
we  can  git  out  of." 

"  Half  the  time  we  make  our  dinner  on  bread  and 
milk  Sundays,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter,  smilingly.  "  I'm 
bound  to  have  one  day  in  the  week  when  I  ain't  tied 
to  the  kitchen." 

"  Your  wife  must  have  a  pile  of  work  to  do,  Si, 
with  all  these  youngsters ;  it's  enough  to  make  her 
look  peaked.  Lucy  finds  chores  enough  on  the  farm, 
but  we  hain't  no  children  and  I  help  her  considerable. 
I  s'pose  you're  handy  in  the  house  when  you're  out 
o'  work,  ain't  ye,  Si  ?  " 

Silas'  face  was  a  study.  Mr.  Hunter  continued, 
as  he  took  another  slice  of  cold  lamb  : 

"  You'd  laugh,  I  expect,  to  see  me  with  one  of 
Lucy's  big  aprons  on  wipin'  dishes  or  turnin'  the 
wringer.  I  s'pose  I  do  cut  a  figger,  but  it  reminds 
me  of  the  time  when  I  used  to  ketch  Lucy  unawares 
a  makin'  pies  or  somethin'  before  we  was  married, 
an'  she  used  to  git  my  face  all  flour  behind  the  pan 
try  door." 

"  Law,  now,  Jabez,  ain't  you  ashamed?"  Mrs. 
Hunter's  face  was  rosy. 

"  I  like  to  think  of  them  old  courtin'  days,  don't 
you,  Si?" 

Tears  sprang  into  Mrs.  Dayton's  eyes;  she  did 
not  look  at  her  husband.  He  mumbled  an  inarticu- 


-34- 

late  answer.  The  children  were  delighted  with  the 
turn  of  the  conversation  ;  such  a  jolly  fellow  had  not 
visited  them  for  many  a  day. 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  when  I  got  married  that 
my  wife  wa'n't  goin'  to  be  drove  to  death.  I'd  got 
her  an'  I  meant  to  take  care  of  her  an'  keep  her. 
Seems  's  though  some  men  took  partic'lar  pains  to  git 
their  wives  out  o'  the  way  so  they  could  git  another. 
I  ain't  anxious  for  No.  2.  Lucy  don't  look  's  though 
she  was  fadin'  away,  does  she?  Tipped  the  scales  at 
one  hundred  an'  ninety-five  pounds  (stop  yer  nudgin', 
Lucy)  the  other  day." 

Jabez  beamed  affectionately  on  his  discomfited 
spouse,  the  children  tittered  and  Mrs.  Dayton 
ventured  to  smile  across  the  table  at  her  unusually 
silent  husband. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Dayton,  I  don't  blieve  you  weigh 
much  mor'n  a  hundred  pounds.  Looks  to  me  like 
you  was  pretty  near  tired  out  an'  needed  a  change. 
Bundle  her  up,  Si,  with  her  babies,  an'  send  her  out 
to  the  farm.  You  can  git  along  without  her  a  spell 
better'n  you  can  spare  her  for  good.  I  don't  b'lieve 
you  want  a  No.  2  to  mother  all  these  youngsters." 

Silas  found  his  tongue  and  a  chance  to  use  it  at 
last,  and  the  conversation  drifted  into  other  channels. 
Sooner  than  any  of  them  desired,  the  time  came 
when  the  Hunters  were  obliged  to  leave,  and  the 


-35- 

Daytons  were  left  with  the  feeling  that  a  warm,  invig 
orating  rift  of  sunshine  had  been  let  into  their  lives. 
Evidently  Silas  had  "  food  for  thought "  that  evening, 
and  it  was  he  who  lay  awake  that  night,  and  his  wife 
who  slept.  When  she  was  ready  to  begin  her  washing 
the  next  morning,  she  found  her  tubs  filled  with 
water  and  the  clothes-line  ready  for  use.  Volumes 
could  not  have  told  her  more  than  those  two  simple 
acts  did.  In  the  afternoon,  as  she  sat  making  aprons 
for  the  children,  Silas  said:  "  If  you  want  to  go  out 
to  the  farm,  Martha,  I  think  likely  I  can  get  Mandy 
Johnson  to  come  and  keep  house." 

"But  the  children?" 

"  You  can  take  the  baby  and  Freddy  and  Stella, 
and  the  rest  will  get  along  all  right  going  to  school 
here."  So  it  was  arranged. 

When  Mrs.  Dayton  returned,  almost  a  new 
woman,  she  found  that  a  compromise  had  been 
effected  and  Silas  was  working.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  keep  up  her  own  strike,  but  life  was  henceforward 
made  easier  for  her.  She  hiied  help  on  extra  hard 
occasions,  many  little  things  that  had  been  expected 
of  her  were  omitted,  and  Silas,  now  that  his  eyes 
were  opened,  found  that  he  could  save  his  wife  from 
backaches  and  help  her  to  get  a  leisure  hour  in  ways 
that  detracted  not  a  whit  from  his  manliness.  The 
time  came  when  he  said  to  her:  "That  was  a  cute 


-36- 

idea  of  yours,  Martha— that  strike  for  eight  hours.  I 
was  mad  at  the  time,  but  when  I  saw  how  much 
better  Jabez  Hunter  treated  his  wife  than  I  did  you, 
it  made  me  feel  that  maybe  I  hadn't  been  doing  right ; 
I  guess  I  think  as  much  of  you  as  he  does  of  Lucy, 
and  I  mean  to  give  you  as  good  a  show  as  I  can." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  said  Martha,  looking  lovingly 
at  her  husband;  "  but  I  was  not  before  my  strike.  I 
was  really  getting  vicious.  We  are  lots  happier  now, 
aren't  we?  " 

"  I  only  wish  all  strikes  might  end  as  well  as 
yours  did." 


HEARTS  ARK  TRUMPS. 


MRS.  BELKNAP  had  led  a  nomadic  life  since  the 
death  of  her  husband,  flitting  from  place  to 
place  as  fancy  suggested. 

lyonely  ?  Yes,  but  Mrs.  Belknap  was  accustomed 
to  loneliness.  She  had  been  lonely  as  a  child  in  her 
cheerless  country  home,  and  she  had  been  still  more 
lonely  as  a  wife  when  long  miles  intervened  between 
her  and  all  the  associations  of  early  years,  and  an 
impassable  gulf  separated  her  husband's  soul  from 
her  own. 

With  the  large  ideality  of  youth,  she  had  invested 
the  man  of  her  choice  with  qualities  he  did  not  pos 
sess  ;  moreover,  she  was  one  of  those  who  do  not  grow 
into  a  realization  of  their  capabilities  and  needs  until 
late  in  life.  Every  year  took  her  farther  away  from 
her  husband  and  made  the  void  in  her  life  greater. 
The  finer,  better  part  of  nature — that  which  was 
dearest  and  most  essential  to  her — was  entirely  with 
out  companionship,  in  fact  was  scarcely  recognized  by 
him  who  should  have  been  most  appreciative  of  it. 
Can  woman  endure  a  worse  solitude  than  this  ?  She 

(3?) 


-33  — 

tried  to  bear  her  lot  heroically,  and  no  one  knew  what 
bitter  waters  she  passed  through ;  but  she  felt  that  the 
blessedness  of  life  had  never  touched  her.  The  hardest 
of  all  lessons  to  learn  was  resignation ;  the  utmost 
fortitude  was  required  for  her  to  lace  the  prospect  of 
never  living  as  God  knew  that  she  could  live. 

There  was  more  than  this  to  make  her  unhappy ; 
her  husband's  habits  would  have  justified  a  divorce, 
but  she  shrank  from  taking  legal  proceedings  against 
him,  and  continued  on  her  troubled  way  until  Provi 
dence  settled  the  matter  by  suddenly  terminating  the 
earthly  career  of  Mr.  Belknap. 

The  first  winter  thereafter  she  spent  in  Florida, 
the  second  found  her  in  California.  Early  in  Febru 
ary  she  took  up  her  quarters  in  L,os  Angeles,  where 
already  roses  in  countless  variety  were  blooming,  and 
long  rows  of  stately  callas  defied  frosts  as  they  up 
turned  their  white  chalices  to  the  sunny  skies. 

For  some  weeks  Alice  Belknap  felt  the  charm  of 
this  genial  climate  as  she  walked  beneath  the  over 
hanging  pepper  trees,  their  graceful,  ferny  branches 
relieved  by  clusters  of  scarlet  berries,  and  noted  the 
beauty  all  around  her.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  breathe 
the  pure,  soft  air,  and  night  brought  a  refreshing 
coolness  provocative  to  slumber.  Then  gradually  the 
old  spirit  of  unrest  came  upon  her — the  old  revolt 
against  her  destiny.  The  flower-decked  cottage  homes, 


—  39  — 

more  than  the  pretentious  mansions,  accentuated  her 
own  solitariness.  She  was  lonely  still. 

The  only  remedy  for  this  condition  of  mind  she 
had  found  to  be  change  of  scene.  "  I  will  go  to  Santa 
Monica,"  she  resolved  one  day  ;  "  the  sea  will  suit  niy 
mood."  She  forthwith  ensconced  herself  at  the  Hotel 
Arcadia,  upon  the  very  edge  of  the  bluff,  overlooking 
a  grand  curve  of  shore  and  sweep  of  sandy  beach. 
The  hotel  was  fairly  filled  with  guests,  who  made  the 
house  lively  with  hops  and  other  diversions.  Mrs. 
Belknap  might  have  joined  the  merry-makers,  for  she 
had  at  her  command  the  "  open  sesame  "  to  social  cir 
cles — a  generous  bank  account ;  but  of  this  fact  no  one 
was  aware.  The  greater  part  of  her  life  had  been  a 
struggle  with  insufficient  means,  and  she  knew  well 
how  one's  best  energies  are  cramped  by  poverty,  how 
the  needs  of  one's  soul  are  trampled  upon  by  stern 
necessity,  yet  she  never  could  become  a  worshipper 
of  Mammon.  Society  had  but  little  attraction  for  her ; 
the  intellectual  life  offered  pleasure  beyond  the  ken 
of  devotees  of  fashion.  Literature,  art,  music — 
these  were  things  worth  living  for — if  one  were  not 
always  alone ! 

It  had  been  a  fancy  of  the  widow,  as  she  trav 
eled  from  place  to  place,  to  keep  her  riches  in  the 
background,  and  win  what  courtesy  and  esteem  she 
could  solely  by  her  personality.  She  therefore  dressed 


-4o  — 

plainly  and  dispensed  with  luxuries,  but  she  did  not 
forget  to  quietly  assist  many  an  unfortunate  person 
who  came  in  her  way.  The  guests  of  the  Arcadia 
paid  but  little  attention  to  the  new-comer,  though 
there  was  some  puzzling  over  her  on  the  part  of  a 
few  gentlemen  who  observed  the  poise  of  her  manner 
and  the  inscrutable  look  in  her  eyes. 

One  breezy  afternoon  Mrs.  Belknap  was  return 
ing  from  a  stroll  up  the  beach,  dividing  her  atten 
tion  between  the  incoming  tide,  which  narrowly 
escaped  wetting  her  feet  more  than  once,  and  Mrs. 
CUvSter's  last  book.  She  loved  to  read  of  that  happy 
wedded  life  upon  the  plains — a  perfect  illustration  of 
the  ease  with  which  true  love  overcomes  obstacles 
and  endures  hardship  for  the  sake  of  remaining  near 
the  beloved  object.  "  How  rich  that  faithful  little 
woman  was,"  she  thought;  "how  blest  with  such  a 
strong,  cheery,  brave,  tender  and  affectionate  nature 
beside  her !  What  did  it  matter  how  or  where  they 
lived?" 

Her  eyes  grew  moist  with  sympathy  for  the 
dauntless  woman's  unspeakable  loss.  A  gust  of 
wind  fluttered  the  leaves  of  her  book  and  something 
white  flew  past  her  eyes.  Looking  up  quickly,  she 
saw  slips  of  paper  scattered  over  the  sand  and  one 
lying  in  the  edge  of  the  water.  In  another  moment 
it  would  be  carried  out  by  the  receding  wave.  In  a 


nook  formed  by  a  bend  of  the  bluff,  a  man  was  rising 
to  his  feet  with  some  difficulty,  it  appeared,  as  he 
leaned  upon  a  stout  cane — evidently  the  scribbler, 
for  more  slips  lay  about  him  and  chagrin  was  upon 
his  face.  Mrs.  Belknap  deftly  secured  the  soaked 
paper  and  had  gathered  up  most  of  the  others  by  the 
time  the  stranger  reached  her. 

"  Yours?  "  she  queried,  brightly. 

"  Yes;  a  thousand  times  obliged,"  he  replied,  as 
he  took  them  from  her.  "  They  are  of  no  great 
value,  still  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  them." 

"  Wind  and  wave  are  treacherous  here  as  else 
where,"  she  responded  lightly. 

"Yet  we  must  admit  that  there  is  a  great  dif 
ference  between  the  sturdy  blasts  of  northern 
climes  and  the  soft  zephyrs  of  this  semi-tropic 
region ;  between  the  white  crests  of  the  Atlantic 
and  the  peaceful  azure  of  the  Pacific.  Fancy,  now, 
sojourning  at  any  of  the  Eastern  beaches  in  this 
month  of  March." 

"  It  would  be  idyllic,  surely.  There  is  another 
difference  between  the  two  great  oceans  that  is  in 
favor  of  the  stormier  one.  The  Atlantic  is  covered 
with  life.  Anywhere  along  the  shore  you  may  see 
sails  of  different  descriptions,  furnishing  unlimited 
material  for  conjecture  as  to  their  freight  of  human 
ity.  This  calm  expanse  is  unutterably  lonely;  the 


effect  is  depressing,  unless  one  can  lose  one's  self  in 
contemplation  of  its  grandeur." 

"  It  gives  me  inspiration." 

"You  are  a  writer — a  poet,  perhaps?  Pardon 
me,"  as  she  noted  a  shade  of  embarrassment  upon  the 
countenance  before  her. 

"  Scarcely  a  writer — certainly  not  a  poet.  I 
have  tried  to  cultivate  the  faculty  of  expression  since 
I  was  put  hors  de  combat}' 

Mrs.  Belknap  looked  her  interest.  The  gentle 
man  was  evidently  an  invalid;  he  was  rather  slightly 
built,  hardly  medium  height,  and  his  face  was  pale. 
A  broad,  intellectual  brow,  and  clear,  gray  eyes 
redeemed  his  face  from  absolute  plainness  and  gave 
it  force.  One  felt  that  this  man  was  stronger  men 
tally  and  morally  than  he  was  physically. 

"Allow  me,"  he  added,  handing  her  a  card. 
"  May  I  know  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  the  rescue 
of  my  manuscript?" 

Smilingly,  Mrs.  Belknap  took  a  card  from  the 
embroidered  bag  hanging  on  her  arm. 

Lifting  his  hat,  the  stranger  bowed,  and  stood 
looking  after  her  as  she  returned  to  the  hotel. 

So  this  man  and  woman  met,  in  that  mysterious 
entangling  of  paths  that  is  the  fate  of  mankind,  for 
good  or  for  ill,  who  shall  at  the  time  determine? 
Many  interviews  followed.  John  Manning,  like  Mrs. 


-43  ~ 

Belknap,  was  unconventional,  and  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land.  When  he  found  his  new  acquaintance 
sitting  apart  on  the  veranda  after  dinner  that  even 
ing,  he  walked  directly  over  to  her  and  engaged  her 
in  conversation.  Mrs.  Belknap  learned  that  he  was 
a  lawyer  by  profession,  but  a  severe  rheumatic  fever 
had  left  him  with  troubles  that  bade  fair  to  become 
chronic.  For  a  year  he  had  been  in  quest  of  health. 
He  had  tried  the  hot  springs  of  the  South  and  the 
dry  air  of  Colorado  and  New  Mexico.  If  the  famous 
climate  of  California  did  not  work  a  cure,  he  sup 
posed  he  could  only  resign  himself  to  the  inevitable. 

"  It  is  not  easy,"  he  added,  with  a  bitter  smile, 
"for  a  naturally  active  man  to  sit  and  do  nothing, 
especially  if  he  has  not  previously  made  his  fortune. 
For  those  reasons,  I  have  turned  my  attention  to  lit 
erature,  but  I  have  not  got  beyond  a  little  newspaper 
and  magazine  work  yet." 

It  was  an  unusual  thing  for  John  Manning  to 
speak  of  himself  and  his  circumstances.  The  influence 
of  a  sympathetic  presence  is  great,  and  he  had  an  idea 
that  this  lady  was  no  better  endowed  with  worldly 
goods  than  himself.  Something  that  Mrs  Belknap 
said  confirmed  this  idea.  She  gave  him  the  impres 
sion  that  she  was  spending  a  brief  vacation  by  the 
sea,  and  that  soon  she  must  take  up  the  active  duties 
of  life. 


-44- 

"  A  working-woman,"  he  thought ;  "  I  know  it  by 
her  quiet,  self-respecting  independence." 

Somehow  there  was  a  bond  of  understanding 
between  them  from  that  night.  In  the  days  that  fol 
lowed  they  passed  hours  in  reading  or  talking  together. 
Evening  found  them  upon  the  spacious  veranda, 
where  the  moonlight  poured  down  its  mellow  rays, 
watching  the  gay  promenaders  upon  the  beach  and 
the  golden  pathway  upon  the  shimmering  water. 
Mrs.  Belknap's  avoidance  of  the  lively  crowd  was 
another  proof  that  she  did  not  belong  to  that  sphere 
of  life. 

"  But  how  vastly  superior  she  is,"  John  Manning 
thought,  "  to  those  thoughtless  followers  after  fashion ! 
A  woman  with  a  history  !  It  is  written  upon  her  face. 
Can  widowhood  alone  be  the  cause  of  that  repressed 
look,  that  yearning  expression  that  sometimes  comes 
into  her  eyes?  I  think  not." 

One  day  they  were  speaking  about  the  recent 
marriage  of  two  well-known  people — a  man  of  fifty- 
four  and  a  girl  of  seventeen.  "  That  is  the  way  with 
you  bachelors,"  Mrs.  Belknap  said,  laughingly ;  "  when 
you  capitulate,  it  is  most  invariably  to  a  young  girl. 
I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  for  what  is  so  sweet  as  a  fresh, 
young  creature  just  budding  into  womanhood  ?" 

"  A  mature  woman's  periected  soul !"  replied 
John  Manning,  reverently.  "Nothing  can  surpass  it. 


—  45   - 

The  freshness  of  youth  is  a  pretty  thing,  but  it  fades 
away,  while  the  charm  that  is  acquired  by  the  disci 
pline  of  experience  increases  with  the  advance  of 
time.  A  woman  of  spirituality  may  defy  age — she 
will  never  become  uninteresting." 

"  That  would  account  for  the  affection  some 
times  felt  by  men  for  women  much  older  than  them, 
selves,  as  that  of  Mr.  Cross  for  George  Eliot.  Still 
it  is  plain,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  that  a  passe 
woman  can  not  hold  her  own  against  youth  and 
beauty,  no  matter  how  refined  or  accomplished  she 
may  be." 

"Such  women  as  I  have  in  mind  never  become 
passe" 

The  conversation  veered  to  John's  literary  work. 
Mrs.  Belknap  rejoiced  to  learn  that  one  of  the  New 
York  dailies  requested  regular  letters,  and  a  leading 
magazine  had  complimented  his  last  article.  "  This 
gives  me  bread  and  butter,"  he  said,  "and  heart  to 
work  ;  but  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  until  I  write  a  book  ; 
I  have  one  outlined  now,  but  I  can  not  elaborate  it  as 
I  am  now  situated.  My  income  must  not  stop,  and 
you  know  that  publishing  is  expensive  business." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  book,"  Mrs.  Belknap 
said  gently  ;  "  perhaps  I  shall  some  day." 

Nearly  four  weeks  had  passed  when  she  announced 
that  she  must  return  to  Los  Angeles.  A  blank  look 


-46- 

came  into  John  Manning's  face  ;  he  had  forgotten  that 
the  present  state  of  things  could  not  last  indefinitely. 
"  Must  you  go?  " 

"  I  am  wanted  there,"  she  replied,  not  adding 
that  some  legal  business  required  her  attention. 

How  unjust  it  seemed  for  this  woman  to  be  sub 
servient  to  people  no  doubt  on  a  far  lower  plane  of 
being  than  herself !  How  gladly  he  would  save  her, 
if  he  could,  from  the  rude  knocks  of  a  work-a-day 
world  !  More  than  ever  before  he  realized  that  money 
and  labor  should  be  more  equally  and  appropriately 
distributed.  He  had  thought  Bellamy's  theories 
chimerical,  but  just  now  if  he  could  avail  himself  of 
a  generous  credit  card  from  the  government  he  would 
-  what  ? 

Could  he,  even  then,  ask  that  self-contained, 
noble-hearted  woman  to  wed  such  a  sorry  specimen 
of  manhood  as  he  was  ?  A  creature  who  poked  along 
like  an  octogenarian,  and  groaned  if  his  toe  struck  a 
cobblestone  ?  It  would  be  utter  selfishness. 

"  We  never  prize  health  until  we  lose  it,"  he 
sighed  ;  "  I  worked  hard  to  build  up  a  good  practice, 
and  then,  presto  !  the  scene  changed  and  doctors, 
drugs  and  depleted  finances  became  the  order  of  the 
day.  If  I  had  my  health  and  profession  back  again, 
do  you  think  I  would  let  that  woman  go  out  of  my 
life  without  an  effort  to  keep  her?"  This  fiercely,  as 


—  47  — 

to  an  unseen  interlocutor.  Each  discerned  a  change 
in  the  other  during  the  few  days  that  followed.  John 
Manning  wanted  to  speak,  but  dared  not ;  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap  was  distant  and  silent. 

"  This  must  not  be  a  final  good-bye,"  exclaimed 
John,  as  the  train  was  ready  to  depart.  "  You  will  let 
me  call  on  you  in  L,os  Angeles?" 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  replied, 
giving  him  her  address 

The  annual  flower  fete  at  Los  Angeles  took  place 
in  the  last  week  in  April — a  scene  out  of  fairyland. 
In  the  evening,  when  electric  lights  cast  their  brilliant 
rays  upon  the  rainbow-hued  exhibits,  the  sparkling 
diamonds  and  rich  dress  of  the  fashionable  throng 
that  fills  the  building,  the  sight  is  memorable. 

Alice  Belknap  stood  in  the  broad  lower  gallery, 
looking  down  upon  it,  when  she  saw  her  seaside 
friend  approaching  her.  As  their  eyes  met,  he  smiled. 
There  was  a  cheery,  even  eager,  look  upon  his  face 
that  had  not  been  there  when  she  left  him  at  Santa 
Monica  three  weeks  before. 

"You  are  better,"  she  said,  as  they  shook  hands. 

"  Considerably  better,"  he  assented;  "it  is  the 
first  real  gain  I  have  noticed.  I  have  been  at  the 
Arrowhead  hot  springs,  and  found  the  mud  baths 
really  beneficial.  But  you — are  you  not  well?" 

"  I  am  in  my  usual  health." 


-48- 

"  You  look  pale ;  you  must  be  weary  standing. 
I've  been  [hunting  for  you  in  the  crowd  an  hour; 
your  landlady  told  me  you  were  here." 

"  I  am  tired ;  I  think  I  will  go  now." 

John  did  not  ask  her  permission,  but  escorted  her 
from  the  building,  which  was  near  her  boarding-place. 

"  Don't  go  home  yet,"  he  pleaded.  l<  The  night 
is  mild,  and  there  are  plenty  of  seats  in  this  pretty 
little  park.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Nothing  was  said,  however,  for  some  minutes. 
Mrs.  Belknap  leaned  her  head  against  the  iron  chair- 
back  and  gazed  at  the  tropical  shrubs  so  clearly  out 
lined  in  the  electric  light.  John's  eyes  were  on  her  face. 

He  spoke  abruptly.  "  Alice,  I  love  you  !  I  have 
not  had  the  least  encouragement  from  you.  I  am  not 
a  strong  man  or  a  wealthy  one,  but  I  love  you  !  I  have 
hopes  now  that  I  shall  regain  my  health.  Tell  me, 
dear,  could  I  make  you  any  happier?" 

Alice's  hands  trembled,  her  eyelids  quivered  ;  she 
did  not  look  up.  In  a  moment  she  said : 

"  You  are  both  strong  and  wealthy.  Strong  in 
those  characteristics  that  make  a  man  worthy  of  his 
manhood ;  wealthy  in  those  attributes  of  heart  that 
win  the  love  of  woman.  Yes,  John,  you  could  make 
me  happier." 

Her  eyes  met  his  now,  and  they  were  filled  with 
the  light  of  a  great  joy. 


—  49  — 

The  next  morning  she  said  to  him  :  "  It  is  I  who 
am  selfish  in  allowing  you  to  marry  me  instead  of  a 
bright  young  girl.  I  am  very  nearly  as  old  as  you." 

"  I  would  not  have  you  one  day  younger.  I  love 
you  for  being  exactly  what  you  are.  Consider  well 
the  risk  that  you  run.  What  if  I  should  become  una 
ble  to  work?  I  should  never  forgive  myself  for  link 
ing  your  lot  with  mine." 

"  Do  you  not  believe  that  your  wife  would  deem 
it  a  privilege  to  work  for  you  if  it  should  be  neces 
sary  ?" 

"  I  believe  that  you  are  constituted  to  be  God's 
best  gift  to  man — a  true  helpmeet." 

"  You  will  recover  your  health,  I  feel  sure  of  it, 
and  you  will  write  your  book.  I  shall  be  your  prime 
minister  in  that  undertaking.  Your  hieroglyphics 
(you  do  write  wretchedly,  John,  that  conies  of  being 
a  lawyer)  will  be  deciphered  and  copied  by  me.  I 
shall  read  your  proof  and  make  myself  indispensable 
generally.  No  protests ;  it  will  be  a  delight  to  me, 
and  there  will  be  the  pleasure  of  refuting  Daudet's 
assertion  that  intellectual  men  are  hampered  by  mar 
riage." 

"  I  wonder  vou  don't  write  a  book  yourself,  such 
a  clever  woman  as  you  are." 

"  I'd  much  rather  have  my  husband  write  one.  I 
shall  be  very  proud  of  you,  John." 


-50- 

"  Little  flatterer!" 

In  a  month  they  were  married ;  there  was  no 
reason  for  delay.  By  mutual  desire  the  honeymoon 
was  spent  at  the  Arcadia.  Alice  Manning's  expres 
sive  face  blossomed  into  beauty  under  the  vivifying 
influence  of  love,  and  her  husband  counted  himself 
blessed  among  men.  Again  they  sat  watching  the 
beach  and  the  ocean  by  moonlight ;  this  time  Alice 
held  John's  firm,  white  hand  in  hers  and  caressed  it 
as  they  talked. 

She  had  many  pretty  little  ways  that  were  a  per 
petual  surprise  and  pleasure  to  her  husband.  Depths 
of  tenderness  constantly  revealed  themselves,  and 
John  sometimes  fancied  that  in  her  love  was  an  ele 
ment  of  gratitude  which  sought  for  every  avenue  of 
expression. 

"  Now  the  tide  of  European  travel  is  at  its 
height,"  Alice  remarked.  "  Have  you  ever  thought 
you  would  like  a  trip  abroad? " 

"  I  have  hoped  to  be  able  to  go  some  day." 

"  It  has  always  been  a  dream  of  mine  to  go— with 
pleasant  company.  Suppose  we  telegraph  to  New 
York  for  passage.  I  am  sure  the  change  would  be 
good  for  you.  The  famous  German  baths  may  work 
wonders.  Then,  wouldn't  you  enjoy  a  quiet  stay  by 
the  charming  Swiss  lakes,  and,  possibly,  a  cruise  011 
the  Mediterranean?" 


Was  she  joking?  John  looked  at  his  wile  in 
amazement. 

"  No,  my  head  is  not  turned  by  happiness.  I 
assure  you  that  such  a  journey  is  quite  within  the 
possibilities.  You  have  only  to  express  your 
preference." 

John  was  speechless.  "  My  love,  was  it  very 
wrong  of  me  to  allow  you  to  think  me  a  poor 
woman? " 

"  Then  you  are  rich  !  "  John's  face  grew  white, 
and  he  tried  to  draw  his  hand  away  ;  Alice  clung  to  it 
tightly. 

"  At  first,  it  pleased  me  to  keep  you  in  ignorance 
of  my  financial  independence  ;  afterward,  I  dared  not 
tell  you,  for  I  knew  your  pride.  You  must  not  sup 
pose  that  I  feared  my  money  would  be  a  temptation 
to  you.  If  you  had  known  of  it — " 

"  I  should  not  have  asked  you  to  marry  me." 

"  That  absolves  me,  does  it  not?  " 

John's  face  was  still  set  with  pride.  <(  I  wish  it 
were  not  so,"  he  said,  speaking  with  difficulty.  "  You 
give  me  everything.  I  cannot  make  a  fair  return." 

"  Say  not  so,  John  !  I  have  never  told  you  of  my 
past  life.  If  you  knew  all,  you  would  realize  that 
your  love  and  protecting  tenderness  are  priceless  to 
me.  Does  he  who  feeds  a  starving  person,  give 
nothing?  Does  the  shepherd  who  takes  in  his  arms 


-  52 

a  chilled  and  weary  lamb  and  warms  and  soothes  it, 
do  nothing?  My  husband,  I  never  lived  until  now. 
You  have  led  me  out  of  the  horrible  wilderness  of 
solitude  into  the  realms  of  peace  and  joy.  God  bless 
you  for  it !  " 

Alice's  intense,  passionate  words  thrilled  John 
Manning  through  and  through.  The  glimpse  they 
gave  of  her  unhappy  past  deepened  his  tenderness 
for  her.  "My  poor  darling,"  he  murmured,  "you 
know  what  the  world  will  say." 

"  What  do  we  care  for  the  world  ? "  Tears  stood 
in  her  eyes  now.  "  In  the  game  of  life,  hearts  should 
lead,  and  if  they  are  trumps,  they  are  sure  to  win. 
Look  at  me,  John.  Are  you  sorry  that  you  married 
me?" 

Soul  met  soul  in  the  gaze  that  followed,  and  the 
question  was  answered  without  words. 


A  MID-DAY  CALL  AT  MINER'S  FLAT. 


IT  w£S  a  broiling  day  in  mid-summer  at  Miner's  Flat. 
The  scorching  rays  of  an  Arizona  sun  mercilessly 
sought  out  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  camp,  unob 
structed  by  shade  of  any  kind.  Alice  Marriner 
thought  of  the  hills  and  dells,  the  leafy  nooks  and 
rippling  waters  of  her  old  home  in  New  England  as 
she  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  kitchen  door,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  broad  and  sterile  plain  where  not 
a  single  tree  relieved  the  monotony  of  the  landscape. 
It  was  a  dreary,  uninviting  spot  for  a  home,  and  the 
quick  tears  sprang  to  Alice's  eyes  as  a  wave  of  long 
ing  for  something  different — something  better — than 
this  in  life  swept  over  her.  But  they  were  speedily 
brushed  away,  and  the  girl  turned  back  to  her  work 
in  the  sweltering  little  kitchen.  "  How  foolish  of 
me !"  she  thought.  "  Haven't  I  one  of  the  very  best 
brothers  in  the  world?  And  doesn't  he  toil  from 
morning  till  night  to  give  me  a  home,  and  deny  him 
self  many  a  pleasure  that  he  could  enjoy  but  for  me  ? 
What  right  have  I  to  complain  because  we  don't  live 
in  the  pleasantest  place  in  the  world  and  have  all  the 

(53) 


-  54  - 

luxuries  of  a  millionaire?  Alice  Marriner,  thauk 
your  lucky  stars  that  things  are  no  worse,  and  hurry 
up  with  your  dinner.  Henry  will  be  here  in  thirty- 
five  minutes  as  hungry  as  a  bear." 

So,  with  deft,  quick  movements,  Alice  set  the 
potatoes  over  the  fire,  gave  the  savory-smelling  roast 
in  the  oven  a  good  basting  and  was  "creaming"  the 
butter  and  sugar  for  the  pudding  sauce,  when  tap,  tap, 
came  a  knock  at  the  front  door. 

"My  goodness!  Who's  that,  I  wonder?"  ex 
claimed  Alice,  hastily  substituting  a  clean  white  apron 
for  her  floury  kitchen  one,  and  shutting  the  stove 
dampers  that  nothing  might  burn  in  her  absence. 
She  crossed  the  little  sitting-room,  which  also  served 
as  dining-room  and  as  Henry's  bed- room — for  this  was 
the  land  of  cot-beds  and  blankets — and  opened  the 
outer  door. 

"  Te-he-he  !"  giggled  Miss  Laura — commonly  and 
appropriately  called  Lolly — Fayette.  "Was  passing 
by  and  thought  I  'd  call,"  with  a  glance  that  was  cal 
culated  to  be  bewitching  at  her  companion,  a  tall, 
broad-shouldered  young  fellow  in  a  white  suit  and 
Panama  hat. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Alice,  politely. 
"  Walk  in,  please.  Take  this  rocker,  Lolly  ;  and  Mr. 
Harwood,  allow  me  to  relieve  you  of  your  hat." 

"  Distressingly  warm,  isn't  it  ?"  languished  Miss 


—  55- 

Lolly,  plying  her  fan  with  as  much  vigor  as  she  could 
muster.  "I  never  should  have  ventured  out  in  such 
a  sun,  only  Velma  Sykes  is  going  away  on  the  noon 
stage,  and  I  was  positively  obliged  to  see  her  about 
some  things  she  is  going  to  get  for  me  in  San  Fran 
cisco.  I  met  Mr.  Harwood,  and  he  was  good  enough 
to  walk  along  with  me  and  carry  my  umbrella.  So  I 
told  him  it  was  a  good  time  to  run  in  and  see  you." 

A  good  time  for  them,  perhaps,  but  not  for  Alice, 
who  felt  that  her  face  was  as  red  as  a  lobster  with  the 
heat  of  the  cook  stove,  who  had  doubts  about  the 
smoothness  of  her  hair,  and  knew  that  Henry  could 
not  wait  many  minutes  for  his  dinner.  But  Alice  was 
a  real  lady,  and  entertained  her  callers  as  gracefully 
as  if  their  visit  were  not  malapropos.  It  was  not  per 
fectly  easy  to  do  this,  for  Miss  Fayette  seemed  bent 
upon  showing  up  the  discomforts  of  Alice's  life,  and 
Mr.  Harwood  had  never  been  in  the  house  before. 
He  had  not  been  in  Miner's  Flat  many  weeks,  and 
Alice's  acquaintance  with  him  was  but  slight. 

"  Mercy  me !  how  thick  the  flies  are,"  said  Laura, 
dabbing  at  one  which  was  endeavoring  to  get  a  taste 
of  the  "  Magnolia  Balm  "  upon  her  cheek.  "  I  should 
think  they'd  eat  you  up." 

"There  are  a  good  many  this  summer,"  replied 
Alice,  "  and  we  are  late  about  getting  our  screen 
doors  on.  Brother  is  so  tired  when  he  gets  home  at 


-56- 

night.  Next  week  he'll  be  on  the  night  shift  and  will 
have  .some  leisure  through  the  day." 

"  Oh,  does  he  put  them  on  ?  We  always  hire  such 
jobs  done,  and  then  the  season  isn't  half  over  before 
you  ;re  fixed  up."  Alice  flushed,  but  checked  the 
answer  that  rose  to  her  lips,  reflecting  that  Laura  did 
not  realize  how  impertinent  her  language  was — it  was 
her  way.  But  she  wished  Laura  would  not  say  such 
things  before  Mr.  Harwood  He  had  given  Laura  a 
strange  look  when  she  made  her  last  speech,  and  now 
sat  gazing  respectfully  but  critically  at  Alice. 

"  How  did  you  enjoy  the  festival,  Miss  Marriner  ?" 
he  inquired. 

"  Very  well,  indeed.  Everyone  was  so  social, 
and  I  so  seldom  go  out  in  the  evening." 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  shut  yourself  up  so  for," 
interrupted  Laura.  "You're  cooking  and  scrubbing 
all  day,  and  I  should  think  you  'd  want  some  recrea 
tion  when  night  comes.  You  take  in  sewing,  too, 
don't  you  ?"  with  an  inflection  that  plainly  evinced 
her  estimate  of  such  menial  employment. 

"Yes,  sometimes,"  replied  Alice,  quietly,  "as  I 
have  a  good  sewing  machine,  and  am  anxious  to  help 
all  I  can." 

"  Well,  if  'twas  me  I  shouldn't  distress  myself  as 
long  as  my  brother  could  support  me.  It's  too  hot 
weather  to  work.  I  should  think  you'd  roast  in  a 


-57- 

little  bit  of  a  house  like  this,"  glancing  through  the 
half-open  door  at  the  kitchen  fire. 

"Is  not  it  as  hot  for  my  brother  as  for  me?" 
asked  Alice,  striving  to  remain  composed.  "  And  he 
is  not  strong.  Indeed,  that  is  why  we  came  to  this 
Southern  country— the  doctor  said  he  must  go  away 
from  the  cold  winters.  Henry  is  just  as  good  to  me 
as  he  can  be,  and  he  is  all  that  I  have.  I  could  not 
rest  easy  one  minute  if  I  did  not  make  his  burden  as 
light  as  possible." 

Alice's  head  was  erect  now,  and  her  eyes  shone 
with  a  steady,  loving  light. 

Wallace  Harwood  looked  at  her  admiringly. 
Laura  Fayette  saw  it  —it  was  the  very  thing  she  was 
working  against.  She  had  brought  Wallace  in  here 
on  purpose,  knowing  that  he  had  been  very  favorably 
impressed  with  the  gentle,  modest  girl  whom  he  had 
met  in  company  a  few  times,  and  determined  to 
counteract  this  impression  if  she  could  do  so,  by 
showing  up  the  poverty  of  the  Marriners,  and  Alice's 
"  drudgery  "  at  home. 

Mr.  Wallace  Harwood  was  a  young  man  of  means, 
and  good  looking  withal—  though  that  was  of  second 
ary  importance — and  Miss  Laura  had  designs  upon 
him. 

"  I  declare,  it's  your  dinner  time,  ain't  it?"  as 
innocently  as  if  she  had  not  been  fully  aware  of  it 


-58- 

before  she  knocked  at  the  door.  "  Don't  let  us  hinder 
you.  For  my  part,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  eat  din 
ner  at  this  time  of  day.  We  don't  have  ours  until 
five  o'clock." 

"  I  confess  that  I  prefer  dinner  at  night  myself," 
replied  Alice.  "  But,  when  a  man  does  hard  work,  he 
needs  his  most  substantial  meal  in  the  middle  of  the 
day." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Mr.  Harwood,  "  and  I  am  not 
yet  weaned  from  Yankee  customs." 

"  Then  you  are  from  New  England?"  ejaculated 
Alice,  breathlessly.  "  From  what  part,  pray?" 

"  From  W ,  Massachusetts." 

"  Ah !  And  I  am  from  New  Hampshire.  But 
Massachusetts  is  almost  equally  familiar  to  me.  I 
have  cousins  living  near  W ." 

"  May  I  ask  their  names?" 

Laura  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  Mr.  Harwood's 
tone  of  interest,  or  with  the  turn  in  the  conversation. 
She  had  been  born  and  bred  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and 
entertained  a  supreme  contempt  for  everything  out 
side  of  San  Francisco.  Alice's  answer  was  checked 
by  the  arrival  of  her  brother,  who  passed  the  muslin- 
draped  window  and  proceeded  to  wash  his  face  and 
hands  at  the  bench  by  the  kitchen  door.  Mr.  Har 
wood  arose  and  said  ,  "  Do  please  excuse  us  for  both 
ering  you  at  this  hour.  I  will  inquire  about  the 


—  59- 

cousins  some  other  time.  Come,  Miss  Fayette,  let  us 
give  Miss  Marriner  a  chance  to  give  her  brother  his 
dinner." 

"  Not  until  I  have  introduced  him  to  you," 
entreated  Alice,  who  was  in  no  wise  ashamed  of  her 
miner  brother,  despite  his  blue  flannel  shirt  and  ugly 
overalls.  "  And  won't  you  both  stay  to  dinner?" 

lyaura  declared  that  it  would  be  utterly  impossi 
ble  for  her  to  eat  a  morsel  so  soon  after  breakfast, 
and  Mr.  Harwood  politely  declined. 

"  Come  in,  Henry,"  called  Alice,  "  I  want  to  see 
you." 

"  Henry  "  appeared  in  the  doorway —a  sunburned, 
honest-faced  young  man  of  about  twenty-five,  whose 
eyes  lighted  affectionately  as  they  rested  upon  his 
sister.  Miss  Fayette  bowed  distantly,  and  Alice  intro 
duced  the  young  men  to  each  other.  They  shook 
hands  cordially,,  and  presently  Henry  supplemented 
his  sister's  invitation  for  the  callers  to  remain  to  din 
ner,  while  Alice,  warned  by  the  advancing  hand  of  the 
clock,  began  to  spread  the  table.  The  visitors  still 
declined,  however,  and  bowed  themselves  out,  L,aura 
urging  Alice,  with  hypocritical  ardor,  to  come  and 
see  her  often.  Alice  flew  around  like  a  bird,  and  soon 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  brother  sitting  at 
the  table,  and  doing  ample  justice  to  her  cooking. 

"  Come,    sis,   sit   down,"   said   Henry ;  "  there's 


—  6o  — 

enough  on  the  table  for  three  or  Tour  men  now.  Sit 
down,  and  tell  me  all  about  your  fine  company.  But 
did  you  have  that  smooch  on  your  face  when  they 
were  here?"  pausing  with  a  piece  of  meat  half-way  to 
his  mouth. 

"  What  smooch  ?"  Alice  hastily  arose  and  crossed 
to  the  little  looking-glass.  "Oh,  horrible!"  as  .she 
beheld  a  sooty  mark  upon  one  temple.  "  However 
did  that  get  there  ?  Oh  !  I  know ;  it  was  when  I 
stooped  down  to  baste  the  meat.  I  remember  that  I 
hit  my  forehead  against  the  corner  of  the  stove.  Oh, 
I  never,  never  will  go  to  the  door  again  until  I  have 
looked  into  the  glass.'"  Her  overcharged  feelings 
could  not  longer  be  controlled.  She  burst  into  tears. 
She  liked  Mr.  Harwood  so  much,  and  what  must  he 
think  of  her  ?  It  was  bad  enough  for  Lolly  Fayette 
to  show  him  how  different  her  life  was  from  that  to 
which  he  was  accustomed;  but  this  was  far  worse,  for 
this  savored  of  untidiness,  and  Alice  knew  that  every 
well-regulated  man  had  a  healthy  horror  of  the  least 
indication  of  a  sloven  in  a  woman. 

"  Tut,  tut,  sis,"  said  Henry,  soothingly.  "  Don't 
cry.  That's  only  a  trifle." 

"But  it  looks  so — so  — frowsly,"  becoming  inco 
herent,  "  like  a  — a  —  ."  Sobs  finished  the  sentence. 

"  See  here,  Allie,"  cried  Henry,  jumping  up  and 
putting  his  arms  around  the  quivering  figure,  "I  can't 


have  you  feeling  like  this.  You're  all  tired  out  and 
used  up  with  the  heat.  You  shan't  work  so  any  more. 
I'll  get  some  one  to  help  you  before  I'm  a  day  older." 

If  Henry  Marriner  had  been  a  strategist,  instead 
of  a  great,  warm-hearted  fellow  who  loved  his  little 
sister  dearly,  he  could  not  have  hit  upon  a  surer 
method  of  drying  Alice's  tears. 

"  Go  back  to  your  dinner,  you  foolish  boy,"  she 
cammanded;  "  and  don't  you  dare  to  talk  to  me 
about  '  help.'  A  pretty  young  woman  I  am  if  I  can't 
do  all  there  is  to  be  done  just  for  you  and  I.  You  are 
not  afraid  to  soil  your  hands  with  work — why  should 
I  be  above  a  paltry  smooch  on  my  face  ?  Come,  dear, 
try  some  of  my  pudding." 

Laura  Fayette  was  not  quite  sure  that  her  scheme 
had  worked  in  the  desired  manner,  as  she  pursued  her 
way  homeward.  Wallace  accompanied  her  as  far  as 
the  gate,  but  quietly  declined  her  urgent  invitation 
to  lunch,  and,  lifting  his  hat,  passed  on.  If  she  had 
chanced  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Marriners 
just  before  dusk  on  the  following  day,  she  would 
have  seen  something  which  would  have  convinced 
her  that  her  labors  had  been  in  vain — Wallace  Har- 
wood  taking  a  reluctant  leave  of  Alice  Marriner,  just 
outside  the  open  door,  after  a  pleasant  call,  when  no 
discordant  element  had  marred  an  earnest,  unconven 
tional  conversation. 


-62  — 

Wallace  had  lost  110  time  in  inquiring  about  the 
"  cousins  near  W ;"  and  judging  by  the  fre 
quency  of  his  calls  thereafter,  and  the  length  of  his 
interviews  with  Miss  Alice,  there  must  have  been 
a  great  deal  to  say  about  the  distant  relatives.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  residents  of  Miner's  Flat  became 
accustomed  to  seeing  these  two  out  riding  together 
at  the  sunset  hour,  or  walking  arm-in-arm  up  and 
down  the  moonlit  street,  enjoying  the  cool  breezes 
that  seldom  failed  to  blow  over  the  camp  at  night, 
after  a  long  and  sultry  day.  It  was  patent  to  every 
one  that  the  elegant  young  visitor  had  fallen  "  dead 
in  love  "  with  pretty,  unpretending  Alice  Marriner. 
Some  croaked  that  his  attention  could  mean  no  good 
— a  rich  young  fellow  like  him  would  never  marry  a 
miner's  sister.  But  their  doubts  were  set  at  rest  one 
fine  morning  in  autumn,  when  a  certain  marriage 
notice  met  their  eyes  in  the  Daily  Silver  Star,  coupled 
with  the  announcement  that  the  happy  pair  would 
leave  Miner's  Flat  on  the  twelve  o'clock  stage  for  an 
extended  tour  through  the  Eastern  states  prior  to  set 
tling  in  their  new  home  in  Southern  California. 

"  It's  so  good  of  you,  Wallace,  dear,"  said  the 
bride,  "  to  decide  that  you  will  live  in  Santa  Barbara 
so  that  Henry  and  I  need  not  be  separated,  for  he 
would  hardly  dare  venture  into  a  cold  climate  yet. 
And  it  will  be  so  nice  for  him  to  take  charge  of  that 


-63- 

ranch  you  have  bought.  He  will  soon  be  as  strong 
as  ever,  I  know.  I  can't  think  how  you  ever  came  to 
fancy  such  a  plain  little  mortal  as  I  am,  Wallace." 
The  brown  eyes  looked  up  to  his  with  a  world  of 
love  and  confidence  in  them. 

"It  was  that  mid-day  call  which  did  it,"  laughed 
Wallace.  "  I  liked  your  appearance  before,  but  that 
finished  me." 

"  Pray,  what  constituted  the  charm,  my  lord ! 
Could  it  have  been  the  dusky  smooch  that  ornament 
ed  my  brow  ?  Or  was  it  my  healthy  color  ?  Speak, 
I  conjure  you,  and  solve  the  mystic  problem." 

"  I  warn  you  not  to  be  saucy,"  and  Wallace  gave 
his  wife  a  specimen  of  the  punishment  in  store  for 
her.  "  It  was  one —both — everything.  It  was  the 
vast  difference  between  you  and  the  ordinary  girl  of 
the  period — the  fashionable  miss  who  is  too  delicate 
to  work,  but  able  to  dance  all  night;  who  despises 
honest  poverty,  but  cares  not  from  how  disgraceful  a 
source  the  money  emanates  which  slips  through  her 
fingers  so  quickly.  Pshaw  !  what  do  I  want  of  a  wife 
like  that?  What  enjoyment  could  I  derive  from  her 
companionship  ?  What  would  I  find  in  her  to  love? 
I  have  you,  my  treasure.  God  be  thanked  for  that.  I 
know  your  worth,  and  may  I  be  worthy  of  you  !  I 
don't  intend  that  these  dear  hands  shall  ever  be 
employed  in  wearisome  tasks,  but  it  is  a  pleasant 


-64- 

thought  that  if  it  were  necessary,  you  would  work 
them  to  the  bone  for  one  you  loved." 

"Indeed  I  would,"  exclaimed  Alice. 

"I  trust  you  will  never  be  obliged  to,  my  darl 
ing,"  replied  Wallace,  gravely  and  reverently.  "But 
how  different  is  Laura  Fayette !  As  long  as  her 
father  continues  to  prosper  in  the  liquor  business, 
she  can  play  the  lady ;  but  if  reverses  come,  as  they 
so  frequently  do  in  these  reckless  frontier  towns, 
where  will  she  be?  She  served  me  one  good  turn, 
though  unwittingly,  when  she  brought  me  to  your 
door  on  that  scorching  July  day  just  four  months 
ago.  She  paved  the  way  for  the  happiness  which 
I  now  enjoy,  and  we'll  thank  her  for  that,  will  we 
not,  my  dearest?  " 

"  Actions  speak  louder  than  words,"  and  Wallace 
Harwood  was  fully  satisfied  with  his  answer. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MISS  ALDEMAN. 


**I_lAVE  you  called  on  Miss  Aldeman  yet,  my 
1  1  dear?"  queried  Mr.  Morley,  as  he  compla 
cently  brushed  a  crumb  from  his  immaculate  shirt 
front,  while  awaiting  the  arrival  of  dessert  upon  the 
table. 

"  Called  upon  Miss  Aldeman  !  Certainly  not," 
responded  Mrs.  Morley,  in  tones  of  unmistakable 
astonishment  and  hauteur. 

"  And  why  '  certainly  not  ? '  "  persisted  the  head 
of  the  house.  Mrs.  Morley  looked  across  the  well 
appointed  table  at  him  for  a  moment  in  speechless 
indignation.  "  One  would  think  you  expected  me  to 
associate  with  all  the  common  people  in  town,"  she 
said  at  last,  cuttingly.  "Miss  Aldeman  is  not  in  'our 
set '  at  all.  Why,  she  works  for  a  living  /  " 

If  the  young  lady  in  question  had  committed 
some  heinous  crime,  it  could  not  have  been  spoken  of 
with  more  crushing  emphasis. 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  replied  Mr.  Morley, 
quietly.  "  So  do  I,  for  that  matter.  I  suppose  you 

(65) 


—  66- 

consider  me  in  your  set?  "  And  the  impertinent  man 
arched  his  eyebrows  and  looked  over  at  his  wife  in 
affected  concern. 

"  You  are  ridiculous,  Mr.  Morley,"  snapped  that 
irate  individual.  "It  is  perfectly  honorable  and  au 
fait  for  a  man  to  support  his  family,  and  your  occu 
pation  of  broker  is  eminently  respectable.  But  Miss 
Aldeman  actually  teaches  music,  and  sews,  and  I 
don't  know  what  all.  How  she  can  have  the  face  to 
put  herself  among  high-toned  people,  I  don't  see." 

"  Perhaps  because  that  face  is  so  very  good-look 
ing,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Morley,  facetiously.  "I'm 
sure  I  don't  see  anything  dishonorable  in  a  young 
lady  earning  her  own  living  in  whatever  manner 
she  finds  it  possible  to  do  so,  if  she  has  no  one  to 
earn  it  for  her.  It  is  true,  it  is  more  fashionable  for 
a  girl  to  know  nothing  of  any  real  consequence,  to  sit 
in  the  parlor  all  day  long  with  limp  hands  and  pro 
nounce  life  a  bore,  until  she  catches  some  foolish  fel 
low,  who  doesn't  know  any  better,  in  the  matrimonial 
noose.  But,  for  my  part,  I  prefer  the  girl  of  old  times. 
She  was  sensible,  and,  when  she  married,  she  made  a 
good  help-meet  to  her  lucky  husband.  Ah,  well,  one 
does  not  see  many  of  that  kind  now-a-days." 

Mr.  Morley  sighed,  and  munched  his  grapes  with 
an  abstracted  air,  which  gave  place  to  one  of  amuse 
ment  on  hearing  his  wife's  next  sally. 


—  67  — 

"  I  really  believe,  Freeman  Morley,  that  you  have 
fallen  in  love  with  Louise  Aldeman  !  " 

Now  this  was  an  absurd  speech,  for  Mr.  Freeman 
Morley  was  bald-headed,  rotund,  and  being  on  the 
shady  side  of  fifty,  not  a  man  calculated  to  inspire 
the  tender  passion  in  the  heart  of  a  young  lady,  or 
prone  to  cherish  other  than  paternal  feelings  towards 
one  so  many  years  his  junior. 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  dear,"  remarked  Mr.  Morley, 
good-humoredly.  A  man  is  always  in  good  humor 
after  dinner,  you  know,  and  then  Mr.  Morley  had 
never  been  in  ill  humor  a  dozen  times  in  his  life. 
"  Not  so  fast.  I  certainly  admire  the  young  lady  for 
her  independence,  and  the  sterling  good  qualities 
that  I  believe  her  to  possess ;  but  I  don't  think  it 
need  to  cause  you  any  uneasiness,  my  dear.  I  spoke 
of  her  to-day  because  I  met  her  on  my  way  home  to 
dinner,  and  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask  if  you  had 
made  her  acquaintance.  I  am  positive  you  would 
like  her,  Mrs.  Morley." 

The  lady  deigned  no  reply  to  this,  but  dinner 
being  over,  sailed  majestically  from  the  room. 

Louise  Aldernan,  the  subject  of  this  post  prandial 
discussion,  was  a  very  prepossessing  looking  young 
lady,  of  quiet,  well-bred  demeanor,  who  made  her 
appearance  in  the  aspiring-to-be-fashionable  town  of 
Nebulon,  California,  some  five  or  six  months  previous 


—  68  — 

to  the  opening  of  our  story.  Little  was  known  about 
her  save  that  she  brought  letters  of  recommendation 
from  the  East  to  the  pastor  of  one  of  the  churches, 
and  one  or  two  other  prominent  personages.  These, 
coupled  with  the  young  lady's  pleasing  appearance, 
produced  so  favorable  an  impression  that  she  was,  at 
her  earnest  request,  admitted  to  board  in  the  pastor's 
own  family,  and  was  given  the  entree  to  a  very 
respectable  class  of  society.  Some  there  were  who, 
like  Mrs.  Morley,  stood  aloof  from  the  new  comer,  on 
account  of  the  mystery  surrounding  her  antecedents 
and  the  evident  impoverished  condition  of  her  purse  ; 
but  she  had,  by  this  time,  won  warm  friends  as  well, 
friends  who  occupied  a  social  status,  in  some  cases, 
equal  to  that  of  Mrs.  Morley.  This  was  what  occa 
sioned  that  haughty  dame's  insinuation  that  Miss 
Aldeman  had  "put  herself"  among  people  of  unex 
ceptionable  standing  in  the  community.  Miss  Alde 
man  herself  would  have  indignantly,  if  quietly, 
resented  the  inference  had  she  heard  it,  for  she  pos 
sessed  a  nature  that,  so  far  from  being  obtrusive,  was 
very  considerably  reserved.  Instead  of  making 
advances  herself,  it  was  found  necessary  by  those 
desirous  of  forming  her  acquaintance,  to  seek  her 
company ;  and  their  favors,  if  accepted  at  all,  were 
received  with  a  mingling  of  self-respect  and  apprecia 
tion.  Those  who  knew  her  best  declared  that, 


-69- 

behind  the  mask  which  she  presented  to  the  world, 
there  existed  the  warmest,  most  sympathetic  of  hearts, 
and  an  eloquence  of  tongue  not  suspected  by  the  pub 
lic,  who  found  her  a  delightful  listener,  but  a  modest 
conversationalist.  Miss  Aldeman  had  been  in  Nebu- 
lon  but  a  week  when  she  advertised  for  pupils  in 
music,  and,  three  months  later,  finding  the  class  not 
sufficiently  remunerative  to  place  her  on  a  secure 
monetary  basis,  even  by  the  exercise  of  the  most 
rigid  economy,  she  signified  her  willingness  to  do 
dressmaking,  either  in  families,  or  at  home.  A  cer 
tain  number  of  days  in  each  week  were  devoted  to 
this  occupation,  there  being  no  dearth  of  customers, 
and  those  remaining  were  set  aside  for  the  music  les 
sons.  The  children  loved  their  teacher,  and  made 
good  progress.  The  fact  could  not  be  denied  that 
Miss  Aldeman  was  a  thorough  mistress  of  the  piano, 
and  her  services  were  sometimes  secured  at  concerts 
and  entertainments,  when  she  never  failed  to  add 
greatly  to  the  merits  of  the  programme.  But  when 
Mrs.  Freeman  Morley,  and  others  of  like  calibre,  had 
the  management  of  such  affairs,  it  is  needless  to  say 
that  Miss  Aldeman 's  services  were  not  required. 
Despite  her  impecunious  situation,  her  attire  was 
always  that  befitting  a  lady  of  refinement.  She  had 
apparently  lost  some  friend  quite  recently,  although 
she  did  not  wear  deep  mourning,  but  confined  herself 


to  plain  black  or  white.  The  excellent  material 
invariably  used,  the  style  of  construction,  and  the 
manner  of  wearing,  all  combined  to  give  her  a  dis 
tingue  air  in  whatever  costume  she  assumed.  It  was 
really  too  provoking,  Mrs.  Morley  thought  Much  as 
she  prided  herself  on  her  undisputed  position,  her 
haughty  carriage,  and  her  luxuriant  wardrobe,  she 
envied  Miss  Aldemau  the  nameless  air  of  grace  and 
elegance  that  hung  about  her.  But  the  presuming 
creature  worked  for  a  living,  and  was,  therefore,  not  a 
fit  companion  for  those  "  born  to  the  purple."  Born, 
did  I  say  ?  That  was  not  the  case  with  Mrs  Morley. 
Her  father  was  a  hard-working  shoemaker,  and  his 
daughter  found  it  necessary  to  go  out  to  service  at  the 
period  of  her  life  when  she  ought  to  have  been  attend 
ing  school.  But  a'l  that  was  forgotten  long  ago,  and 
woe  betide  Freeman  Morley  should  he  so  far  forget 
himself  as  to  allude  to  that  buried  past.  Mrs.  Morley, 
like  many  another  similarly  situated  woman,  became 
arrogant  and  vain  on  her  assumption  to  wealth,  and 
displayed  an  infinitesimal  amount  of  either  charity  or 
sympathy  for  those  traveling  over  the  same  rough  road 
her  now  delicately  shod  feet  had  once  trodden.  It  is 
so  the  world  over.  Well  born  and  carefully  reared 
people,  who  are  accustomed  from  earliest  infancy  to 
all  the  advantages  of  what  is  termed  ''high  life,"  seldom 
forget  what  constitutes  a  true  lady  or  gentleman. 


A  few  evenings  after  the  above  quoted  conversa 
tion  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morley,  the  handsome  mansion 
of  Mrs.  Warner,  wife  of  the  principal  merchant  of 
the  town,  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  thrown  open  to 
the  creme  de  la  creme  of  Nebulon  society.  Silks 
rustled,  jewels  flashed,  and  the  perfume  from  a  wealth 
of  exotics  filled  the  air.  Conspicuous  among  the 
fashionably  attired  throng  Miss  Aldeman  stood,  tall, 
pale,  queenly,  her  exquisitely  fitting  robe  of  heavy 
black  silk  forming  a  decided  contrast  to  her  surround 
ings,  but  presenting  no  sense  of  incongruity  in  its 
quiet  elegance.  A  lily  nestling  among  the  rich  laces 
at  her  throat,  and  another  amid  the  dark  braids  of  her 
hair,  formed  her  only  ornaments. 

She  had  not  cared  to  attend  this  party,  in  fact, 
had  felt  a  strange  reluctance  in  doing  so,  a  shrinking 
as  from  some  ill  to  come.  But  Mrs.  Warner  had 
insisted  on  her  services  in  filling  up  a  programme 
which  embraced  the  best  vocal  and  instrumental  tal 
ent  in  town,  and  she  had  cast  aside  her  misgivings 
with  a  light  laugh  at  their  folly. 

The  evening  was  well  advanced.  Half  the  pro 
gramme  had  been  accomplished.  Miss  Aldeman  had 
rendered  one  of  Beethoven's  sonatas  in  a  masterly 
manner,  and  the  assembled  company  were  enjoying 
an  interval  of  sociability,  when  the  hum  of  voices,  and 
the  sound  of  merry  laughter,  filled  the  spacious  apart- 


—  72  — 

merits.  Miss  Aldeman,  sitting  in  a  low  chair  near  the 
piano,  conversing  with  a  couple  of  benign  old  ladies, 
was  half  hidden  from  those  standing  about  her.  Un 
consciously  her  attention  was  drawn  to  a  conversation 
near  at  hand. 

"Who  are  those  new  arrivals,"  asked  a  blithe 
young  voice ;  "they  are  most  fashionably  late — it  must 
be  past  eleven." 

"I  don't  know,"  responded  another  feminine 
voice,  "  but  I  judge  they  are  acquisitions  to  our  rather 
limited  circle  of  attractive  young  men.  The  taller  one, 
in  particular,  is  very  fine-looking.  I  say,  Rob,  who  are 
those  young  gentlemen  just  bowing  to  Miss  Warner?" 

"Hey?  with  Miss  Warner?"  rather  absently 
queried  the  "  Rob  "  addressed,  turning  his  eyes  reluct 
antly  from  a  fair  face  across  the  room,  to  the  direc 
tion  indicated  by  his  sister.  "  Why — no,  it  can't  be 
—by  Jove !  it  is.  Hal  Bentley's  got  home !  And 
that's  his  chum  with  him — travelled  over  Europe 
together — inseparable  since  they  met  at  college.  I 
saw  them  both  a  few  months  ago,  when  I  was  East." 

"  But  what  is  the  other  gentleman's  name,"  per 
sisted  the  young  girl  on  the  other  side  of  "  Rob's  " 
sister.  "  He  must  surely  be  known  by  some  other 
appelation  than  that  of  '  Hal  Bentley's  chum.'  "  And 
the  saucy  miss  darted  a  look  of  captivating  archness 
from  beneath  her  dainty  eyebrows. 


—  73  — 

"  Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you?  Well,  Miss  Inquisitive- 
ness,  his  name  is  Ralph  Winchester.  I  see  that  you 
girls  are  meditating  mischief  already  ;  but  I  warn  you 
that  Winchester's  no  easy  game — said  to  be  proof 
against  womankind.  You'll  find  Hal  on  hand  for  a 
flirtation,  though." 

Here  the  colloquy  came  to  an  abrupt  termination, 
for  a  sudden  bustle  in  the  rear  caused  the  speakers  to 
turn  their  heads  in  quest  of  the  cause  of  the  confu 
sion. 

"  Look  at  Miss  Aldeman !  "  whispered  one  to 
another.  She,  who  had  never  since  her  advent  in 
Nebulon  swerved  from  the  maintenance  of  perfect 
composure,  was  actually  being  led  through  the  low 
window  to  the  vine-wreathed  piazza,  outside,  in  a 
fainting  condition.  Adolph  Warner,  the  eldest  son 
of  the  hostess,  chancing  to  be  close  by  Miss  Aldeman's 
side,  sprang  to  her  relief  when  she  swayed  in  her 
chair,  and  caught  her  hurried  words,  gasped  forth 
with  difficulty — "take  me  away — away  from  here, 
quick!" 

He  at  once  put  aside  the  ladies  who  closed  around 
them  with  ejaculations  of  sympathy  and  proffers  of 
assistance,  and  half  carried  the  drooping  girl  into  the 
balmy  night  air,  which  he  knew  would  act  as  the 
most  powerful  restorative  that  could  be  administered. 

"  She  will  be  better  directly,"  he  said,  "  as  soon 


74 

as  she  gets  out  of  this  close  room.  She  had  better  be 
perfectly  quiet." 

"  I  told  her  only  yesterday,"  asseverated  a  matron 
of  commanding  mein,  "  that  she  was  killing  herself; 
but  she  declared  that  work  was  good  for  her." 

Adolph  seated  Miss  Aldeman  in  a  large  wicker 
chair,  and,  perceiving  that  there  was  now  little  danger 
of  her  losing  consciousness,  hurried  away  for  a  glass 
of  water.  Silently  she  drank  as  he  held  the  glass  to  her 
lips,  then,  with  a  low  murmur  of  thanks,  sank  back 
in  her  chair.  But,  as  he  was  about  to  speak,  she  half 
rose,  and  cried  out; 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Warner,  I  must  go  home  at  once.  Will 
you  make  an  excuse  to  Mrs.  Warner?  I  am  really- 
unable  to  play  again,  and  I  had  better  go  home." 

"  But  not  yet,  Miss  Aldeman,  really  not  yet.  You 
are  not  strong  enough.  Certainly  you  must  not  play 
again,  and  I  will  explain  to  mother,  but  you  had  bet 
ter  sit  here  until  you  are  entirely  recovered." 

"No,  no,  I  can  not,"  responded  Miss  Aldeman, 
excitedly.  "  I  would  much  rather  go  home.  It  is  not 
far." 

And,  finding  it  useless  to  remonstrate,  Adolph 
procured  her  wraps,  and  escorted  her  down  the  quiet 
street  to  her  boarding-place.  It  was,  as  she  said,  not 
far;  but  he  could  not  help  wondering  at  her  deter 
mination  to  take  so  sudden  a  departure,  and  at  the 


-  75  - 

curious  chauge  from  her  habitual  self-possession. 
Although  several  years  younger  than  she,  Adolph 
had  for  some  time  cherished  a  profound  admiration 
for  Miss  Aldeman,  and  he  now  felt  proud  to  be  able  to 
render  her  a  service,  and  expressed  as  much  when  she 
turned  to  speak  to  him,  with  a  few  grateful  words,  as 
they  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  pastor's  residence.  He 
then  went  back  to  the  scene  of  festivity,  where  he 
recounted  the  events  of  the  past  half  hour  to  his 
mother.  Mrs.  Warner  was  sorry,  very  sorry  to  learn 
of  Miss  Aldeman's  indisposition,  and  regretted  that 
her  guests  would  not  have  the  pleasure  of  listening  to 
that  gem  of  Schubert's  which  the  young  lady  had 
promised  them. 

"  Yes  certainly,"  she  replied  to  Adolph's  request, 
"  she  would  call  to-morrow,  and  see  if  Miss  Aldeman 
was  complete^  recovered." 

After  settling  this  matter,  Adolph  sought  out  the 
new-comers,  who  were  attracting  a  great  deal  of  atten 
tion,  and  the  three  young  men  were  soon  exchanging 
cordial  greetings.  Hal  Bentley  was  not  a  stranger  in 
Nebulon,  although  unknown  to  Ella  Newton  and  her 
bosom  friend,  Kitty  Glover,  who  had  been  away  from 
home  for  some  years,  attending  school  at  Oakland, 
during  which  time  the  Bentleys  had  come  to  Nebulon 
to  reside,  and  Hal  had  left  for  Yale  College,  afterward 
traveling  in  Europe  for  a  year,  and  dallying  for  some 


-76- 

months  on  the  Atlantic  coast.  At  last  he  returned  to 
his  family,  a  well  grown,  handsome,  high  spirited 
young  fellow,  whose  black  eyes  had  already  sought 
out  the  prettiest  faces  in  the  room,  and  were  working 
havoc  in  the  hearts  of  their  owners. 

But  the  elder  and  taller  gentleman,  Ralph  Win 
chester,  was,  as  Ella  Newton  had  discriminatingly 
affirmed,  the  more  striking  looking  of  the  two. 
Strictly  speaking,  his  features  were  not  as  perfect  as 
those  of  Hal  Bentley,  yet  there  was  a  likeness  about 
them  which  formed  a  harmonious  whole.  It  was  a 
strong  face  and  a  noble  head,  which  surmounted  a 
frame  of  fine  ph}Tsical  proportions.  The  clear  gray 
eyes  were  searching,  keen,  yet  kind — those  eyes 
which,  under  passion's  influence,  deepen  to  a  shadowy 
darkness,  or  glow  with  infinite  tenderness — eyes 
which  bespeak  a  loyal,  ardent,  trustworthy  soul 
within.  For  him,  the  bevy  of  fair  young  girls  assem 
bled  in  Mrs.  Warner's  parlors  had  no  more  attraction 
than  would  arise  from  the  presence  of  beauty  in  any 
form  and  place.  In  the  abstract,  it  pleased  him  as 
one  walking  through  a  smooth  and  grassy  field  is 
pleased  at  the  sight  of  numerous  dainty  blossoms 
growing  along  the  pathway.  Individually,  they  did 
not  occupy  an  iota  of  his  thoughts.  This  was  his 
first  visit  to  California.  He  had  yielded  to  the  per 
suasions  of  his  chum  to  accompany  him  home,  think- 


-77- 

ing  it  might  possibly  allay  the  grief  that  was  gnaw 
ing  at  his  heart  For  months  he  had  striven  to 
remove  the  obstacle  that  suddenly  and  without  warn 
ing  had  interposed  itself  between  him  and  anticipated 
happiness,  and  his  struggles  had  been  in  vain.  He 
was  prone  now  to  relinquish  all  hope,  yet  he  could 
not  have  it  so. 

"  What  in  creation  are  you  biting  your  moustache 
like  that  for,  and  staring  into  space  with  the  most 
utterly  lugubrious  air?  Don't  you  know  you're  at  a 
party?"  cried  Hal  Bentley.  "A  pretty  idea  these 
Nebulon  girls  will  form  of  my  chum  !  They'll  think 
I've  brought  home  an  ogre,  instead  of  the  rarely  fas 
cinating  man  that  you  are,  Ralph." 

"  Much  obliged,  I'm  sure,"  murmured  Ralph  with 
a  faint  smile,  coming  back  to  a  realizing  sense  of  his 
whereabouts.  "  I  believe  I  was  out  of  order.  You 
must  bear  with  me  a  little  longer,  old  boy ;  I  shan't 
bother  you  as  much  as  I  have  in  the  past." 

"  Ah,  the  deuce!  it's  that  girl  again  !  Come  now, 
Winchester,  you've  had  heart  aches  enough  over  that 
business.  You  know  the  old  saying  "  There's  as  good 
fish  in  the  sea  as  ever — " 

Hal  stopped  abruptly,  warned  by  his  companion's 
rebuking  glance  ;  and,  a  moment  later,  was  introduc 
ing  Mr.  Winchester  to  half  a  dozen  expectant  girls. 

Miss  Aldeman  did  not  keep  her  appointments  the 


day  after  the  party,  and  she  sent  word  to  her  music 
pupils  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  take  a  week's 
vacation.  Those  who  were  sufficiently  interested  to 
call  and  inquire  for  her  welfare,  found  her  not 
actually  ill,  but  apparently  fatigued  by  overwork, 
requiring  a  brief  respite  from  her  usual  round  of 
duties.  The  good  pastor  and  his  wife,  who  were 
daily  associated  with  her,  surmised  that  something 
more  than  physical  ailments  was  disturbing  her  ;  but 
they  did  not  press  her  confidence,  and  wisely  breathed 
no  word  of  their  suspicions  to  the  outside  world. 
The  truth  was  that  Louise  Aldeman  did  not  dare  to 
go  out.  She  was  fearful  of  being  recognized  by  one 
whom  it  would  be  pain  unspeakable  to  her  to  meet. 
Would  she  ever  be  able  to  school  her  emotions,  she 
wondered,  and  speak  to  this  man  with  the  indifference 
that  she  manifested  toward  others,  which  it  was  now 
her  duty  to  feel  toward  him  ?  What  a  narrow  escape 
she  had  from  being  brought  unexpectedly  face  to  face 
with  him  at  Mrs.  Warner's  party.  And  what  would 
have  been  the  denouement,  had  such  an  unhappy  event 
occurred?  Louise  shuddered  and  turned  scarlet,  as 
she  thought  how  nearly  she  had  betrayed  her  secret 
to  the  gossips  of  Nebulon. 

Some  one,  she  did  not  know  who  it  was,  had  said 
that  Hal  Bently  and  his  friend  were  going  to  the  city 
in  a  few  days,  to  take  in  the  sights.  If  she  could  only 


-   79  ~ 

keep  out  of  sight  until  then,  all  would  be  well,  for  she 
would  be  miles  away  from  Nebulon  ere  they  returned. 
But  it  was  not  likely  that  so  remarkable  a  personage 
as  Miss  Aldeman  would  fail  to  be  mentioned  among 
the  young  men  for  any  considerable  time  ;  and  so  it 
happened  that  one  afternoon,  when  several  of  "the 
boys  "  were  enjoying  their  cigars  on  the  promenade 
overlooking  the  sea,  Miss  Aldeman's  name  was  intro 
duced. 

"  I  say,  Hal,  you  ought  to  see  her,"  said  Robert 
Newton.  "  She's  a  regular  stunner.  Not  loud,  either, 
you  know — but  stylish,  and  haughty  as  an  empress. 
You'd  never  imagine  her  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey." 

"  What  did  you  say  her  name  was?"  asked  Hal, 
looking  askance  at  Ralph  Winchester,  who  had  been 
loitering  in  the  rear,  and  who  had  reached  Hal's  side 
only  in  season  to  hear  the  conclusion  of  Bob's  speech. 

"  Miss  Aldeman,"  replied  Bob. 

Ralph's  head  was  lifted  instantly,  and  he  took 
an  eager  step  forward,  his  eyes  flashing,  and  his 
entire  aspect  that  of  a  man  suddenly  aroused  from 
lethargy  to  intense  activity. 

"Miss   Aldeman?     Of  whom   are  you   speaking? 
That  is  not  a  common  name." 

He  made  a  strong  effort  to  control  his  emotion,  as 
he  addressed  himself  to  Robert  Newton. 

"  Of  a   young   lady   who   came   here   about  six 


—  8o  — 

months  ago,  from  where  nobody  knows,  who  has  cre 
ated  quite  a  little  stir  in  the  community  by  her  per 
sonal  charms  and  her  musical  endowments,  added  to 
the  veil  of  mystery  that  enshrouds  her  life.  No  one 
knows  who  she  is,  or  why  she  came  alone  to  a  strange 
town  to  earn  her  living,  for  she  has  no  money." 

"  Describe  her  appearance,  if  you  please." 

Newton  looked  around  at  Winchester  with  some 
curiosity,  as  he  heard  the  strained  voice,  but  Ralph 
was  walking  quietly  along,  seemingly  intent  upon 
clipping  from  its  stem,  with  the  cane  he  swung,  each 
bit  of  a  blossom  that  gemmed  the  pathway  ;  for  it  was 
soon  after  the  close  of  the  rainy  season,  and  the 
Golden  State  lay  decked  in  her  rarest  garments. 

A  very  fair  description  of  Miss  Aldeman  fol 
lowed,  concluded  by  the  remark,  that  "  more  than 
one  fellow  would  be  glad  to  win  her,  mystery  and  all, 
but  she  wouldn't  give  anybody  a  chance." 

"  I  think  I  know  this  Miss  Aldeman,"  said  Ralph, 
quietly,  but  Hal  Bentley  noted  the  effort  it  cost  him. 
"  I  should  like  to  meet  her,  and  see  if  it  is  the  lady 
that  I  once  knew  in  the  East." 

"You  know  her?  By  Jove!"  and  the  young 
men  circled  around  Winchester. 

"  Tell  us  about  her.     Is  she  all  right  ?" 

The  flippant  youth  who  approached  with  the  last 
query  shrank  back  intimidated  as  he  encountered  a 


—  8i  — 

lightning    flash   of  anger  from    Winchester's    eyes. 

"  She  is  a  perfect  lady,"  Ralph  said,  impressively, 
"  and  was  highly  esteemed  as  such  where  she  resided. 
Come,  Hal ;  help  me  to  find  her." 

11  She  boards  at  Rev.  Mr.  Haydn's,"  said  one  of 
the  number. 

"  All  right,"  responded  Hal,  before  anyone  else 
had  a  chance  to  offer  to  accompany  Winchester. 
"  I'm  acquainted  with  the  Haydns.  We'll  call  around 
together." 

And  they  bade  adieu  to  their  companions  and 
retraced  their  steps  to  the  town. 

"  I  fibbed  a  little  then,  Ralph,"  said  Hal,  when 
they  were  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  others.  "  I've 
no  idea  of  going  with  you — of  course  I  should  be 
de  trap.  But  I'll  show  you  where  the  minister  lives, 
for  I  know  you  won't  heed  my  advice  to  keep  away. 
Good  luck  to  you,  my  boy.  I  hope  this  miserable 
business  will  be  explained  now." 

Ralph  wrung  his  friend's  hand  in  speechless 
emotion.  His  face  was  white,  and  the  muscles  were 
tense  and  drawn. 

As  Hal  turned  a  corner  to  another  street,  he  saw 
Ralph  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  house  pointed  out 
to  him,  awaiting  an  answer  to  his  pull  at  the  door 
bell.  A  more  opportune  time  could  not  have  been 
chosen.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haydn  were  spending  the 


o  2 

afternoon  in  the  country,  and  there  was  no  one  in  the 
house  but  Miss  Aldeman  and  the  Chinaman  who  pre 
sided  over  the  culinary  department  of  the  establish 
ment,  who  chanced  to  pass  by  the  front  door  just  as 
the  bell  rang,  and  who  good-naturedly  ushered  the 
caller  straightway  into  Miss  Aldeman's  presence  in 
the  back  parlor,  where  she  sat  fashioning  a  dainty 
tidy  for  Mrs.  Haydn. 

"  Louise ! " 

"Ralph!" 

Miss  Aldeman  sprang  from  her  chair  with  the 
vague  intention  of  beating  a  retreat,  but  got  no  farther 
than  Ralph  Winchester's  arms,  which  enclosed  her  as 
if  they  could  never  relinquish  their  hold.  A  moment 
she  rested  passively  in  his  embrace,  and  she  could  feel 
his  strong  frame  tremble  ;  then  she  summoned  all  her 
strength  and  pushed  him  from  her.  The  tender, 
happy  light  which  glowed  on  his  face  gave  place  to 
a  look  of  sternness. 

"  Why  do  you  put  me  from  you,  Louise,"  he  said. 
"  Have  you  then  ceased  to  love  me? " 

The  stern  voice  sank  to  a  tone  of  deep  sadness, 
and  he  gazed  reproachfully  at  Miss  Aldeman's  flushed 
countenance. 

"  Why  have  you  come  here  to  torture  me  thus?" 
she  cried,  no  longer  the  quiet,  self-contained  being 
the  people  of  Nebulon  had  known.  "  What  do  you 


-83- 

mean  by  embracing  me  in  this  manner  ?  I  gave  you 
up  long  ago,  and  prayed  that  you  might  be  happy 
with  the  one  you  love.  I  went  away,  where  I  thought 
I  should  never  look  upon  your  face  again.  Have  you 
found  me  out  only  to  taunt  me  with  my  love  for  you? 
Oh,  you  are  cruel,  cruel!  "  and  the  excited  woman 
burst  into  a  fit  of  violent  sobbing. 

"You  are  talking  in  enigmas,"  said  Ralph,  com 
ing  forward,  and  striving  to  remove  her  hands  from 
her  face.  "  I  do  not  understand  you.  Nor  could  I 
comprehend  why  you  wrote  me  such  a  note  six 
months  ago,  or  why  you  suddenly  disappeared  from 
all  who  knew  you,  and  no  tidings  could  be  gained  of 
your  whereabouts.  I  think  you  were  the  cruel  one, 
Louise.  Ah  !  you  don't  know  what  I've  suffered." 

"Do  I  hear  aright  ?"  she  said.  "You  have  suf 
fered?  Ah,  Heaven,  but  I  thought  the  suffering  was 
all  mine,  and  you  were  happy." 

"  It  was  with  the  hope  of  clearing  up  this  mys 
tery  that  I  came  to  you  this  afternoon,  Louise,"  said 
Ralph,  gently. 

"Are  you  not  married?"  Miss  Aldeman  asked 
suddenly. 

"  Married  !  my  darling,  I  shall  never  marry  any 
woman  but  you." 

She  stared  at  him  a  moment  incredulously. 

"  Wait  here  an  instant,"  she  said,  and   left  the 


-84- 

room,  returnly  directly  with  an  open  letter,  which 
she  placed  in  Ralph's  hand,  who  beheld  the  following 
words : 

"Miss  ALDKMAN:—  You  are  engaged  to  Ralph 
Winchester,  and  he  will  marry  you,  because  he  has 
plighted  you  his  word,  and  because  the  death  of  your 
father  has  left  you  penniless.  He  is  too  noble-hearted 
to  cause  you  suffering,  at  a  time  when  you  are  doubly 
in  need  of  his  solace  and  support.  But  although 
thus  true  to  you  in  action,  his  heart  has  swerved 
from  its  allegiance.  He  loves  another,  and  that  other 
is  Lucy  Talbot.  You  are  informed  of  this  now, 
because  it  is  better  for  you  to  know  it  now  than  after 
marriage.  A  WELL  WISHER." 

Ralph  read  the  lines  through  slowly,  then  cov 
ered  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Silence  reigned  through 
out  the  apartment.  Raising  his  head,  he  stretched  out 
one  hand  until  it  touched  Miss  Aldeman's  in  a  firm 
clasp,  as  she  sat  near  by,  and,  in  a  solemn  tone,  said : 

"  Louise,  Heaven  is  my  witness,  the  charge  made 
against  me  in  that  letter  is  utterly  false.  I  never 
entertained  other  than  friendly  feelings  for  Miss 
Talbot.  I  have  loved  you  all  the  time,  and  I  shall 
always  love  you.  Do  you  believe  me,  dearest? " 

The  proud  head  was  drawn  to  his  shoulder  now, 
and  he  stooped  until  his  moustache  brushed  her  cheek 
as  he  awaited  her  answer. 


"  I  can  not  doubt  you,  Ralph,"  she  said,  and  her 
arms  stole  about  his  neck.  "  But  what  a  horrible 
mistake  it  has  been  !  Who  could  have  written  such 
a  deliberate  falsehood  ?  " 

Ralph  hesitated  a  moment 

"  It  is  best  that  you  should  know  all,  dear,"  he 
said,  at  length.  "  I  recognized  that  handwriting.  It 
is  Lucy  Talbot's.  She  knew  your  noble,  self-sacrific 
ing  nature  so  well  that  she  must  have  been  confident 
you  would  do  exactly  as  you  did — quietly  and  with 
out  explanation  give  me  up,  and  leave  the  field  clear 
to  her,  thinking  it  would  ensure  my  happiness.  Poor 
girl !  it  was  a  dreadful  thing  for  her  to  die  with  the 
burden  of  such  a  sin  upon  her." 

"  Die?  is  she  dead?" 

"  Yes,  darling.  I  forgot  that  you  had  heard  noth 
ing  from  home  all  this  time.  She  was  thrown  from 
her  horse  and  instantly  killed  in  less  than  a  week 
after  you  went  away.  The  revelation  of  her  duplicity, 
and  unfitness  for  death,  almost  overpowered  me  just 
now.  But  how  could  you  believe  such  a  thing  of  me, 
Louise  ?  And  why  did  you  not  give  me  a  chance  to 
speak  for  myself?  " 

"  I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  see  you,  Ralph.  It 
was  so  hard,  so  terribly  hard  to  give  you  up.  I  was 
unreasonable,  no  doubt,  and  formed  my  conclusions 
too  hastily,  but  I  was  almost  beside  myself  with  grief, 


—  86  — 

and  little  things,  before  unnoticed,  seemed  to  confirm 
that  dreadful  letter.  I  thought  the  kindest  thing  I 
could  do  would  be  to  hide  myself  forever  away  from 
you  and  her." 

The  tears  rolled  down  Louise's  cheeks  at  the 
recollection  of  her  past  suffering.  Ralph  kissed  them 
away  as  he  jocosely  remarked  : 

"  And  a  pretty  time  I've  had  of  it,  hunting  for 
you.  But  I've  got  you  now,  and  you  won't  escape 
me  again.  It's  very  handy  having  a  parson  right  in 
the  house,  and  I  shan't  be  satisfied  until  the  knot  is 
fairly  tied.  By  the  way,  what  is  this  I  have  heard 
about  your  going  out  to  work?  I'm  afraid  you've 
had  a  hard  tussle  with  the  world,  my  poor  darling." 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  declared  Louise.  "  I  have 
worked,  to  be  sure,  and  I  should  have  died  if  I  had 
not  kept  myself  constantly  busy — it  has  been  the  best 
panacea  for  my  heart  ache.  I  have  been  strong  and 
well,  and  my  work  has  not  been  disagreeable.  My 
little  music  scholars  love  me,  and  as  to  the  sewing — 
oh,  you  needn't  start,  why  isn't  sewing  as  good  an 
employment  as  any?  I  always  took  to  the  needle 
handily." 

"But  you,  with  your  delicate  breeding,  your 
accomplishments,  surely  could  have  engaged  in  some 
more  congenial  pursuit.  I  don  t  like  to  think  of  you 
being  anybody's  drudge." 


"  Now  you  are  absurd,"  said  Louise,  emphasizing 
the  statement  with  a  soft  little  kiss  on  his  sober  face. 
"  Just  as  if  there  was  any  more  drudgery  in  making 
pretty  dresses  and  aprons  than  in  beating  French  and 
mathematics  and  English  literature  into  the  craniums 
of  stupid  boys  and  girls,  or  correcting  perspectives  and 
inculcating  the  principles  of  '  free  hand '  drawing 
when  refractory  fingers  refuse  to  come  within  a  rod  of 
the  mark.  Besides,  all  the  positions  of  this  kind  are 
taken  up  here." 

"  How  came  you  to  choose  this  far-away  place  for 
your  self-imposed  exile?" 

"  Because  it  was  my  birth-place,  and  I  always  had 
a  desire  to  visit  it.  If  poor  father  had  lived  another 
winter  we  should  have  come  here  together.  He  spent 
a  winter  here  with  my  mother,  early  in  their  married 
life,  and  here  I  was  born.  But  there  are  so  many 
boarders  here  every  year  that  the  circumstance  was 
long  ago  forgotten,  and  no  one  in  Nebulon  has  the 
least  idea  who  I  am.  I  did  not  wish  any  one  to  know. 
I  would  not  run  the  slightest  risk  of  my  whereabouts 
being  discovered." 

"  Obstinate  girl !"  But  the  tone  and  look  belied 
the  words  ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  lovers  were  filled  to 
overflowing  with  joy  at  the  felicitous  termination  of 
their  estrangement. 

All  Nebulon  was  surcharged  with  astonishment 


—  88  — 

when  it  became  known  that  the  handsome  stranger 
and  the  obscure  Miss  Aldeman  were  engaged  to  be 
married,  and  that  the  young  lady  in  question  was 
obscure  no  longer,  for  she  was  the  only  daughter  of 
none  other  than  the  famous  Prof.  Aldeman,  whose 
renown  as  a  leader  and  authority  in  scientific  circles 
had  reached  every  State  in  the  Union. 

"  Strange  we  didn't  think  of  the  similarity  ot 
names,"  said  a  busybody,  "  although,  of  course,  no  one 
would  have  thought  of  her  being  his  daughter.  No 
wonder  she  has  such  airs.  I  heard  Hal  Bently  tell 
his  mother  that  she  had  traveled  all  over  the  Old 
World  with  her  father,  who  was  always  hunting  up 
something  in  the  scientific  line  ;  and  that  their  asso 
ciates  were  savants  and  artists,  and  the  proudest  in 
the  land  were  glad  to  show  the  Professor  attention. 
But  he  never  could  manage  money  matters,  and  he 
died  suddenly  in  his  chair  one  day,  leaving  her  with 
out  a  dollar.  You  know  we  often  wondered  where 
she  got  her  good  clothes,  and  real  laces,  etc.  It  seems 
she  had  them  all  before  her  father  died.  Hal  says 
she  used  to  dress  elegantly — her  father  was  always 
buying  her  presents." 

"  Hum  !  quite  a  remarkable  case,"  said  Mrs.  Mor- 
ley  to  whom  these  remarks  were  addressed.  "  Of 
course  I  shall  call  now.  I  used  to  know  Prof.  Alde 
man  when  I  was  a  girl." 


-89  — 

She  might  have  added,  but  did  not,  that  she  was 
employed  as  a  sort  of  upper  house  servant  in  the 
family  of  the  young  lady  who  afterwards  became  Miss 
Aldeman's  mother,  and  that  her  acquaintance  with 
the  Professor  consisted  of  a  secret  admiration  for  that 
handsome  young  man  as  she  watched  the  course  of 
his  courtship. 

Kindhearted  Mr.  Morley  was  truly  rejoiced  at  the 
turn  of  affairs. 

"  L,ord  bless  you  !"  he  said  to  Miss  Aldeman  one 
day.  "  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  made  your  acquaintance 
when  you  hadn't  been  in  this  world  more'n  three 
months,  and  a  right  smart  black-eyed  baby  you  were, 
too.  I  recollect  how  proud  the  Professor  was  of  you, 
and  how  gentle,  and  sweet  and  pretty  your  mother 
looked.  She  was  one  of  that  kind  that  never  lives 
long.  And  so  you're  going  to  leave  us,  hey  ?  And 
ain't  going  alone,  either?  Well  you  needn't  blush, 
he's  a  fine  fellow — anybody  can  see  that—  and  I  wish 
you  joy." 

It  was,  indeed,  but  a  very  short  time  before  Miss 
Aldeman  left  the  pretty  town  by  the  sea  where  a 
peculiar  episode  of  her  life  had  been  enacted.  One 
sunny  afternoon  in  May  (but  are  not  all  California 
afternoons  sunny),  there  was  a  quiet  wedding  at  the 
house  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Haydn ;  and  the  steamer  that 
plowed  its  way  out  of  the  harbor  at  sunset  bore  upon 


—  90  - 

its  deck  as  happy  a  bride  and  groom  as  ever  sailed 
over  Pacific  waters.  The  crowd  assembled  upon  the 
landing  waved  their  handkerchiefs,  and  strained  their 
eyes  to  catch  a  last  glimpse  of  her  who  was  the  mys 
terious  Miss  Aldeman  no  longer.  The  sun  set,  the 
steamer  rounded  the  Point,  and  Ralph  Winchester 
drew  Louise  closer  to  his  side,  with  an  inward  prayer 
of  thanksgiving  that  she  was  at  last  his  wife,  his  own 
sweet  wife. 


THE  SCHOOL-MA'AM  OF  MINERAL  HILL- 


HE  's  a  neat  one,  up  an'  coming  as  you  please, 
an'  yit  she  a'n't  stuck  up,"  said  Jake  Peters, 
looking  after  the  new  school-ma'am  that  had  come  to 
Mineral  Hill  to  teach  the  infantile  idea  of  the  place 
"how  to  shoot." 

"  A  Yankee,  you  can  just  bet  on  that,"  asserted 
Jake's  "  pard,"  for  they  were  a  pair  of  stalwart,  blue- 
shirted  miners  who  thus  criticised  the  passer-by. 
"  Here  comes  Bill  Maxley,  an'  if  he  a'n't  lookin'  arter 
her  out  o'  the  corner  of  his  eyes.  Well,  that's  the 
fust  time  I  ever  knowed  Bill  to  take  any  stock  in  a 
female  critter.  He  got  h'isted  by  one  once,  and  that 
let  him  out  on  the  whole  lot." 

"  Hollo,  Bill,  what  's  up  now?  "  queried  Jo  Wal 
ker.  "  I  see  you  a  castin'  sheep's  eyes  at  the  school- 
ma'am.  My  pard  an'  I  here  have  jist  made  up  our 
minds  that  she  's  a  stunner,  but  we  did  'nt  allow  that 
you  'd  give  her  a  look.  Did  ye  git  busted  playin' 
faro  last  night,  or  air  ye  comin'  down  with  fever  an' 
ager,  or  what  ails  ye  ?  " 

Bill  Maxley  looked  not  over  pleased  with  Jo's 
(91) 


-  92- 

good-natured  chaffing,  and  showed  signs  of  embarrass 
ment  at  having  been  detected  in  his  covert  glances  at 
the  school-ma'am 

"  I  don't  know  as  anything  particular  's  the  mat 
ter,"  he  replied.  "  I  did  lose  all  I  had  last  night, 
though,  but  it  a'n't  the  first  time  I  've  been  dead 
broke." 

"  Well,  you  'd  orter  have  sense  enough  to  let  it 
be  the  last,"  said  Jake  Peters.  "  Why  don't  you  let 
gamblin'  alone  ?  There's  some  folks  we  don't  expect 
nothin'  else  of,  they  'd  be  no  account  any  where,  but 
you,  as  any  one  kin  see,  has  been  a  gentleman ;  you  'd 
orter  keep  out  o'  such  scaly  cump'ny.  No  offense, 
pard,  but  I  hate  to  see  you  goin'  to  the  bad." 

Bill  colored,  and  shifted  his  position  uneasily, 
but  he  knew  too  well  what  great,  honest  hearts  beat 
beneath  the  rough  exterior  of  these  two  miners  to 
exhibit  any  anger  at  criticism  occasioned  by  true 
friendship.  It  may  be  that  his  conscience  gave  him 
a  few  twinges  that  asserted  the  truth  of  Jake's  re 
marks,  for  it  was  true  that  he  had  seen  better  days, 
and  would  once  have  deemed  it  impossible  that  he 
could  contract  habits  which  were  now  an  every-day 
matter  to  him. 

What  would  his  lady  mother  say  if  she  knew  of 
the  hours  that  he  spent  in  the  gay  saloons,  where 
crowds  of  excited  men  stood  around  the  gaming-table, 


-  93  - 

and  liquors  flowed  freely  from  the  varied-hued  bottles 
behind  the  handsome  bar  ?  What  would  his  gentle 
sister  Annie  think  if  she  was  aware  that  the  brother, 
who  was  once  her  embodiment  of  noble  manhood,  had 
fallen  so  low  ?  Maud  Hazeltine  would  probably  curl 
her  proud  lip,  and  look  around  with  renewed  satisfac 
tion  at  the  luxuries  about  her, — for  which  she  had 
broken  her  troth  to  him.  Curse  her !  she  was  to 
blame  for  his  ruin.  But  for  her  his  mother  and  sis 
ter  would  not  be  mourning  his  loss,  ignorant  of  his 
whereabouts  for  three  years  past.  But  for  her  he 
would  not  be  what  he  is  now.  Bah !  what  a  set  of 
hypocrites  these  women  were  !  Knticing  men  on  to 
make  fools  of  themselves  with  alluring  smiles  and 
languishing  looks,  acting  at  love-making  with  such 
consummate  skill,  and  then  after  all  their  caresses 
and  protestations  of  undying  affection,  casting  off 
their  lovers  for  more  desirable  partis,  for  bigger  dia 
monds,  richer  dresses,  grander  equipages,  more  mag 
nificent  establishments? 

A  devil-may-care  expression  spread  itself  over 
Maxley's  fine  lace,  as  he  sauntered  along,  thinking  of 
the  time  in  the  past  when  Maud  Hazeltine  had  looked 
up  at  him  with  her  beautiful  blue  eyes  all  aglow  with 
lovelight  (as  he  had  insanely  imagined),  when  her  soft 
arms  had  clung  about  his  neck,  loth  to  part  with  him 


-94- 

for  even  a  few  hours,  and  her  sweet,  false  voice  had 
prattled  of  love  in  the  most  entrancing  manner. 

He  was  the  luckiest  fellow  in  the  universe,  and 
the  sweetest  of  women  was  to  be  his  wife  ere  six 
months  had  passed.  That  was  before  Theophilus 
Campernon  came  to  Rayville,  and  set  the  feminine 
world  agog  with  his  horses  and  carriages,  his  servants 
in  livery,  and  various  appurtenances  of  unbounded 
wealth.  Theophilus  Campernon  was  sixty  years  old, 
and  troubled  with  gout,  owing  to  the  fast  living  of 
thirty  years  or  more,  but  his  bank  account  was  un 
limited,  and  he  was  in  search  of  a  young  wife.  A 
spirited  rivalry  for  the  honor  of  presiding  over  the 
lion's  superb  establishment  sprang  up  among  the  fair 
ones  of  Rayville. 

For  a  time  Maxley  observed  no  change  in  Maud  ; 
but  soon  it  became  a  matter  of  much  envious  com 
ment  that  Mr.  Campernon  had  eyes  and  ears  for  no 
one  but  the  beautiful  Miss  Hazeltine.  Sundry  bets 
of  gloves  and  chocolates  were  laid  by  the  young  ladies 
of  the  neighborhood,  in  regard  to  the  stability  of 
Maud's  affections.  Some,  who  were  disposed  to  take 
every  one  at  his  best,  could  not  believe  that  she  would 
break  her  engagement,  and  throw  over  the  best-look 
ing  young  fellow  in  Rayville  for  the  sake  of  a  gray- 
headed  old  man  with  a  little  more  money.  Others, 
not  inclined  to  take  so  favorable  a  view  of  human 


-95- 

nature,  declared  it  their  belief  that  Maud  Hazeltine 
would  not  let  slip  the  chance  to  become  the  greatest 
lady  thereabouts,  and  they  were  right, — she  did  not. 

Will  Maxley's  nature  could  not  long  brook  the 
transfer  of  Maud's  favor  from  him  to  Theophilus 
Campernon,  and  stormy  words  ensued  when  Maud 
signified  her  intention  to  marry  the  richer  suitor, 
regardless  of  vows  that  seemed  to  Will  so  sacred. 
Cut  to  the  heart  by  his  loved  one's  peifidy,  Will  bade 
his  mother  and  sister  a  hasty  good-bye,  and  left  home, 
in  a  nearly  frantic  state,  for  parts  unknown.  He  had 
wandered  from  place  to  place,  seeking  relief  from  the 
pangs  of  disappointed  affection  that  tormented  him, 
and  now  here  he  was  at  Mineral  Hill,  in  the  far  West, 
delving,  with  men  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  in  the 
mines.  The  rough  life  suited  his  frame  of  mind,  per 
verted  from  its  natural  channel  by  the  overwhelm 
ing  force  of  the  wave  of  trouble  that  had  swept  over 
him ;  and  the  hard  labor  was  the  best  panacea  for 
his  tortured  brain. 

Gradually  he  acquired,  in  some  measure,  the 
uncultivated  speech  and  ways  of  the  majority  of  his 
co-workers;  and,  from  forming  an  idle  spectator  to 
the  progress  of  the  games,  he  became  a  reckless  par 
ticipant,  forgetting,  for  the  time  being,  his  troubles 
in  the  excitement  of  the  hour.  One  vice  he  escaped. 
He  drank  sparingly,  the  finer  instincts  of  his  nature 


-96- 

revolting   from   an   intemperate  use   of    stimulants. 

Something  in  the  appearance  of  Miss  Brannan, 
the  teacher,  had  arrested  his  attention  as  he  passed 
her.  It  was,  as  Jake  Peters  had  said,  an  unusual 
thing  for  him  to  notice  a  woman,  except  to  avoid  her; 
for  the  treachery  of  one  whom  he  had  believed  the 
incarnation  of  all  that  was  lovely  had  embittered  his 
heart  toward  the  whole  sex,  and  he  now  bore  the 
title  of  "the  woman-hater."  It  was  something  in 
Miss  Brannan's  figure  and  carriage  that  had  caught 
his  eye,  and  it  was  with  bitterness  he  acknowledged 
that  that  something  was  a  resemblance  to  his  false 
fiancee.  She  had  Maud's  erect,  finely  proportioned 
figure,  and  her  step  was  the  same  firm,  sumewhat 
dignified  one;  but  there  the  likeness  ended.  A  very 
different  face  was  Miss  Brannan's  from  Maud  Hazel- 
tine's.  Clear  gray  eyes,  with  a  capacity  for  passion 
slumbering  in  their  depths ;  slightly  irregular  feat 
ures,  firm-set  chin,  and  mouth  presenting  the  com 
bined  characteristics  of  decision  and  womanly  sweet 
ness  in  the  finely-curved  lips;  rich-brown  hair  waving 
back  from  an  intellectual  forehead,  and  coiled  low  in 
the  back  of  her  shapely  neck, —instead  of  Maud's 
azure  orbs,  small  features  as  perfectly  chiseled  as 
those  of  a  statue,  and  golden  hair  crowning  her 
haughty  head  in  a  coronet  of  braids. 

•'Bill"  Maxley  (as  he  was  now  universally  styled) 


-  97  — 

did  not  discover  all  the  peculiarities  of  Miss  Bran- 
nan's  physiognomy  in  the  one  cursory  glance  that  he 
bestowed  upon  her  on  the  day  that  he  received  Jake 
Peter's  kindly  admonition.  It  was  the  result  of  sun 
dry  observations  in  days  following,  for  he  found  him 
self  almost  unconsciously  scanning  the  school-teacher 
at  every  opportunity,  afterward  taking  himself  to  task 
for  a  fool  in  noticing  a  member  of  the  sex  he  hated. 

"  False  as  the  rest,  probably,"  he  soliloquized. 
"  The  less  a  man  has  to  do  with  them,  the  better." 

Miss  Brannan,  in  her  turn,  not  being  above  the 
usual  predisposition  of  young  ladies  for  handsome 
young  men,  had  not  failed  to  observe  the  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  dark-eyed  and  rnoustached  miner,  who 
strode  along  the  streets  with  such  a  proud  air,  and 
bore  so  unmistakably  the  impress  of  finer  breeding 
than  was  the  portion  of  most  of  his  class.  There 
was  something  mysterious  about  this  dark-browed 
fellow.  She  was  sure  he  had  a  history,  and  it  was  a 
sad  one,  for  the  stamp  of  melancholy  was  plainly 
engraved  upon  his  face.  After  a  while,  she  heard 
that  he  was  a  "  woman-hater,"  and  that  inflamed  her 
desire  to  know  something  of  his  life ;  but  Claribel 
Brannan  was  as  proud  as  Bill  Maxley  in  her  way,  and 
she  never  by  glance  or  motion  revealed  to  him  the 
fact  that  she  was  more  than  ordinarily  interested  in 
him.  At  last,  Fate,  in  the  guise  of  an  unruly  horse, 


gS 

brought  about  an  interview  between  the  "  woman- 
hater"  and  the  u  schoolma'am." 

Maxley  was  returning,  one  day,  from  his  work 
on  the  eight-hour  shift,  swinging  in  his  hand  the 
lunch-pail  that  is  the  miner's  badge,  when  he  saw 
Miss  Brannan  ahead,  standing  beside  the  horse  which 
she  was  wont  to  ride  about  the  camp,  evidently 
endeavoring  to  arrange  something  about  the  saddle, 
while  the  animal  frustrated  her  attempts  with  his 
restless  motions.  Another  glance  showed  him  that 
the  saddle  girth  had  slipped  badly  over  to  one  side, 
whereupon  his  chivalric  instincts  prompted  him  to 
hasten  to  her  relief.  She  turned  her  head  as  she 
heard  his  hasty  footsteps,  and  stood  quietly  holding 
the  horse  by  the  bridle  until  he  came  up. 

"O,  sir,"  said  she,  with  a  smile,  "  I  shall  be  so 
much  obliged  if  you  will  help  me  out  of  this  predica 
ment.  My  saddle  has  turned,  and  Don  won't  let  me 
fix  it." 

"  I  will  have  it  all  right  in  a  minute,"  said  Max- 
ley,  as  he  unloosed  the  cinch,  and  squared  the  saddle 
upon  the  horse's  back.  "  How  did  this  get  so  mis 
placed?  Have  you  been  thrown?"  looking  some 
what  anxiously  to  see  if  Miss  Brannan  bore  any 
marks  of  a  fall. 

"  No,  but  I  came  very  near  it.  Don  shied  at  a 
big  rattlesnake  he  saw  beside  the  road,  and  I  nearly 


-99  — 

went  off.  His  sudden  start  made  the  saddle  slip, — 
it  wasn't  on  very  tight,  for  I  saddled  him  to-day, — and 
I  just  let  myself  down  quietly,  and  tried  to  arrange 
it ;  but  Don's  fright  made  him  so  nervous  that  he 
wouldn't  stand  still.  He  is  usually  very  gentle." 

"You  say  you  saw  a  rattlesnake?  Where  was 
it  ?  "  looking  keenly  around  on  either  side  of  the  path. 

"  It  ran  into  that  clump  of  bushes,"  indicating  a 
bunch  of  greasewood  that  grew  near  by. 

"  It  must  be  killed,"  said  Bill,  hastily.  "  There, 
everything  is  all  right  now.  Shall  I  help  you  to 
mount?" 

"  Not  just  now,  if  you  are  going  to  kill  that  snake. 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  let  it  go  ?  You  know  that 
it  is  dangerous  to  attack  one  when  thus  concealed. 
Consider  how  hazardous  it  is,"  said  Miss  Brannan, 
timidly,  lilting  her  earnest  eyes  to  Maxley's  face. 

"Oh,  there  is  no  danger;  you  need  not  be 
alarmed."  Spite  of  himself,  Bill  felt  pleased  at  her 
solicitude.  But,  pooh!  what  did  she  care  whether  he, 
a  strange  miner,  were  bitten  or  not?  It  was  probably 
all  put  on.  "  You  had  better  allow  me  to  place  you 
in  the  saddle.  His  majesty  may  get  away  if  I  delay 
longer." 

"No,  I  shall  not  go  yet,"  and  Miss  Brannan's 
lips  settled  together  firmly.  "  If  you  are  determined 
to  make  the  attack,  I  shall  watch  the  battle." 


—  i  oo  — 

"  Very  well,  as  you  please." 

Maxley  armed  himself  with  a  stout  stick,  and 
advanced  to  the  clump  of  bushes  that  was  supposed 
to  secrete  the  venomous  reptile.  Striking  them  a 
blow,  a  sharp,  thrilling  rattle  was  heard,  and  the  tip 
of  the  snake's  tail  was  seen  rapidly  vibrating  in  the 
air,  thus  giving  Maxley  some  idea  where  to  direct  his 
blows.  Fast  and  thick  they  fell  for  a  moment,  then 
the  foe  was  vanquished,  and  Maxley  raised  the  limp 
body  on  the  stick,  and  threw  it  clear  of  the  bushes. 
A  little  flushed,  he  turned  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
left  Miss  Brannan  standing  holding  her  horse.  Miss 
Brannan  was  leaning  upon  the  animal's  neck,  white 
as  death. 

"  O,  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  "  how  frightened  I  was 
when  the  horrible  thing  made  the  lunge  at  you  !  It 
very  nearly  struck  your  hand." 

And  she  trembled  visibly  with  excitement.  Max- 
ley  laughed  rather  nervously  as  he  saw  how  alarmed 
she  had  been  for  him. 

"  That's  nothing.  I've  killed  many  another  of 
his  race,  and  come  nearer  to  being  bitten  than  that." 

"Well,  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you  for  your 
assistance,"  said  Miss  Brannan,  making  a  violent 
effort  for  composure.  "  I  will  now  ask  you  to  give 
me  a  mount." 

Maxley  stooped,  and  offered  his  hand  and  shoul- 


—  iqi— -''  !    '/  .     ' >'  '> 

der,  which  she  barely^  '  tbuehfid,;biDU0<$iii'g  tljgit}y,  to 
her  place.  He  touched  his  hat,  and  was  about  to 
turn  away,  but  Miss  Brannan,  leaning  forward,  held 
out  her  hand  with  a  smile,  and  he  could  not  do  less 
than  accept  the  proffered  civility.  The  touch  of  her 
soft  palm  sent  a  curious  thrill  over  him. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  he,  in  response  to  her  cordial 
"  good-afternoon." 

She  turned  her  horse's  head  in  the  direction 
from  which  she  had  come,  and  cantered  back  to  the 
camp,  Bill's  eyes  following  her  erect,  shapely  figure, 
and  noting  the  grace  of  her  horsemanship.  He  saun 
tered  up  to  the  lifeless  reptile,  and  severed  the  rattles 
from  its  body  (there  were  thirteen  of  them),  then  he 
pursued  his  way  homeward.  Like  many  of  the 
miners,  he  owned  a  rough  cabin  of  one  room  which 
constituted  his  home, — a  plain  and  lonely  one.  But 
then  he  was  not  in  it  much,  except  to  sleep.  It  was 
always  lively  on  the  street  and  in  the  saloons ;  plenty 
of  men  lounging  about  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or 
night.  An  unwonted  feeling  of  shame  at  the  down 
ward  course  he  was  treading  possessed  him  as  he  sat 
in  the  doorway  of  his  shanty  smoking,  after  reaching 
home;  and,  ior  once,  he  did  not  go  up  street  that 
evening,  but  passed  the  hours  in  solitude,  alternately 
reading  the  papers  and  staring  into  vacancy — thinking. 
He  recalled  the  earnestness  with  which  the  school- 


teacher  "Had*  besought  r<i?n  -to  fun  no  risks,  the  trepi 
dation  she  had  evinced  at  his  "narrow  escape  from  the 
reptile's  fangs,  the  sweet  smile  and  friendly  look  from 
her  eyes  when  she  bade  him  good-bye,  the  touch  of 
her  soft  hand  in  his  hardened  palm  ;  and  it  occurred 
to  him  that  perhaps  he  had  been  wrong  in  judging 
all  womankind  alike,  that  it  was  possible  that  Miss 
Brannan  might  be  as  true  and  honest  as  she  seemed. 
But  then,  Maud  Hazeltine's  manner  had  been  even 
more  calculated  to  inspire  one  with  confidence  than 
Miss  Brannan's,  as  her  face  was  more  bewitchingly 
beautiful.  And  what  was  she,  underneath  her  false 
mask,  but  a  cold,  calculating,  ambitious  trifler  with 
the  most  sacred  emotions  of  a  man's  heart,  valuing  a 
high  position  in  society  more  than  his  ardent,  abid 
ing  love  ?  As  his  wife,  she  would  have  known  no 
reasonable  want.  He  could  not  have  lavished  upon 
her  all  the  luxuries  commanded  by  Theophilus  Cam- 
pernon.  Theophilus  Campernon  !  that  gouty,  bald- 
headed  old  roue!  Filled  with  disgust,  Bill  Maxley 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  went  to  bed. 
Miss  Brannan  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  shanty 
which  served  the  purpose  of  a  school-house,  and 
paused  for  a  moment  to  look  about  her  before  ringing 
the  bell  to  call  in  her  flock  from  their  afternoon 
recess.  The  sun  poured  down  its  scorching  rays  un 
obstructed  by  shade  of  any  kind,  and  the  barren  slope 


-ic-3  — 

upon  which  the  school-house  was  situated,  with  the 
valley  and  rugged  mountains  opposite  lay  bathed  in 
a  flood  of  light. 

Shading  her  eyes  from  the  glare  with  one  hand, 
she  rang  the  bell,  and  the  scholars  came  trooping  in 
and  seated  themselves  on  the  rude  benches.  Just  as 
she  was  turning  away  from  the  door,  a  man's  figure 
appeared  and  a  suave  voice  addressed  her. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  but  I  understand  that  vis 
itors  are  permitted  here.  Will  you  allow  me  to  come 
in  for  a  few  moments?" 

He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  looked  at  the 
teacher  with  marked  politeness,  but  Miss  Brannan 
was  not  pleased  with  his  appearance  for  all  that,  and 
felt  reluctant  to  grant  his  request.  But  it  was  true 
that  visitors  were  allowed,  and,  after  a  slight  hesita 
tion,  she  bade  him  enter,  and  placed  a  chair  at  his 
disposal.  With  profuse  thanks,  the  stranger  accepted 
the  proffered  seat,  placed  his  hat  on  the  floor,  crossed 
one  of  his  immaculately  clad  limbs  over  the  other, 
and  assumed  an  air  of  benevolent  interest  as  he  looked 
around  at  the  wondering  faces  of  the  pupils.  Miss 
Brannan  proceeded  with  the  customary  routine  of 
lessons,  and,  for  a  time,  everything  went  on  as  usual, 
until  she  became  conscious  that  the  eyes  of  the  visitor 
were  almost  constantly  bent  upon  her,  following  her 
every  movement  about  the  room.  This  was  not  at 


—  104  — 

all  agreeable,  and  ere  long  her  heightened  color  and 
crested  head  evinced  the  displeasure  she  felt.  The 
"  few  moments  "  lengthened  into  an  hour,  and  when, 
at  four  o'clock,  she  dismissed  her  school,  the  intruder 
was  still  there. 

"  Permit  me  to  offer  you  my  card  "  said  he,  in 
insinuating  tones 

Miss  Brannan  looked  at  the  bit  of  paste-board, 
but  did  not  touch  it,  whereupon  he  laid  it  conspicu 
ously  on  the  table  beside  which  he  sat. 

"  I  have  seen  you  at  a  church,  Miss  Brannan,' 
(so  he  knew  her  name),  "  and  had  the  pleasure  of  lis 
tening  to  your  divine  voice." 

Miss  Brannan  was  the  leading  soprano  of  the  lit 
tle  choir  that  gathered  on  Sunday  in  the  adobe  church. 
She  particularly  disliked  such  a  broad  compliment, 
and  she  thought  it  about  time  for  Mr.  Rupert  Mon- 
manier  to  take  his  departure.  Hoping  to  accelerate 
that  event,  she  said  something  about  "  having  to  look 
over  some  exercises,"  and  sat  down  at  a  little  distance 
to  go  through  her  task.  Mr.  Monmanier  did  not 
budge,  but  sat  staring  her  persistently  in  the  face. 
Unable  to  endure  this  impertinent  surveillance  longer, 
Miss  Brannan  gathered  up  her  papers,  and  put  on  her 
hat.  Observing  preparations  for  departure,  Mr.  Mon 
manier,  hat  in  hand,  stepped  outside  the  door,  and 
awaited  her  egress. 


-  105  — 

"  Good-day,  sir,"  said  she,  somewhat  sharply, 
after  locking  the  door,  walking  rapidly  away. 

But  she  was  not  rid  of  him  yet.  He  kept  by  her 
side,  saying  he  was  going  in  that  direction,  and  an 
noyed  her  excessively  with  an  increasing  familiarity, 
which  she  met  with  a  haughty  silence.  In  sheer  des 
peration,  she  turned  her  course  toward  the  principal 
streets  rather  than  to  her  boarding-place,  and  entered 
a  dry-goods  store,  there  ridding  herself  of  her  unwel 
come  companion,  who  gave  a  parting  flourish,  and 
proceeded  on  down  the  street.  At  the  tea-table  that 
night  Miss  Brannan  related  her  adventure  of  the 
afternoon,  and  described  the  bold  intruder. 

"  Oh,  I  know  who  he  is,"  suddenly  exclaimed 
Mr.  Taylor,  the  head  of  the  family.  "  He  's  the  man 
from  New  York  who  lately  bought  the  Silver-Spray 
mine.  I  heard  he  was  a  fast  chap.  Broke  the  bank 
at  the  Crescent  Saloon  the  other  night.  Well,  he  'd 
better  not  try  any  of  his  shines  on  you.  He  '11  find 
that  a  mining  camp  is  the  worst  place  in  the  world 
to  insult  a  woman.  There  'd  be  a  thousand  men  after 
him  in  no  time  if  it  was  known  that  he  troubled  you 
or  any  other  decent  woman." 

"  I  remember  now,"  said  Mrs.  Taylor,  "  that  I 
saw  him  staring  at  you  in  church  last  Sunday." 

"  Yes,  he  said  he  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  my 
divine  voice  there,"  replied  Miss  Brannan,  scornfully. 


—  io6  — 

"  Well,  he  did  pile  it  on  pretty  thick  for  a  first 
acquaintance,  and  a  scraped  one  at  that,"  said  Mr. 
Taylor.  "Just  let  me  know  if  he  bothers  you  again." 

A  day  or  two  later,  after  school  was  dismissed, 
Miss  Bran  nan  went  around  to  the  postoffice  on  her 
way  home,  and  found  as  usual  a  long  file  of  men  in 
front  of  the  delivery  window,  and  stretching  out  into 
the  street.  They  courteously  made  room  for  her  to 
pass,  and  she  stepped  up  to  the  ladies'  window,  and 
called  for  her  mail.  The  previous  day  was  Sunday, 
and,  as  the  office  was  open  only  one  hour  on  that  day, 
she  had  failed  to  get  her  mail,  and  now  there  was  an 
unusually  large  one.  With  three  or  four  letters  and 
several  bunches  of  papers  in  her  hands,  beside  some 
small  parcels  she  had  purchased  on  the  way  down 
street,  she  started  for  home.  Arriving  nearly  at  her 
destination,  she  paused  a  moment  to  look  over  her 
collection,  and  made  the  discovery  that  one  letter  was 
missing.  She  must  have  dropped  it  on  the  way,  and 
she  turned  back  to  seek  for  it,  but  the  handsome 
woman-hater  was  coming  toward  her,  holding  a  letter 
in  his  hand,  which  proved  to  be  the  lost  one. 

"  I  observed  this  letter  lying  in  the  street,"  said 
Maxley,  as  he  placed  it  in  her  hand,  ''and  read  the 
address,  '  Miss  Claribel  Brannan.'  As  I  knew  that  to 
be  you,  I  determined  to  restore  the  letter  to  its  owner, 
and  hastened  after  you." 


—  icy  — 

"  Many  thanks,  sir.  I  should  have  felt  sorry  to 
have  lost  it,  for  it  is  from  a  very  dear  friend." 

"Ah!" 

And  Maxley  gave  Miss  Brannan  a  scrutinizing 
look  which  somehow  brought  the  color  in  rosy  flushes 
to  her  face,  thus  completing  the  mistaken  impression 
in  regard  to  the  missive  that  Maxley  had  received 
from  her  last  words,  coupled  with  the  bold,  masculine 
superscription  that  had  attracted  his  attention.  At 
this  juncture,  Mr.  Taylor  came  whistling  around  the 
corner. 

"  Hollo,  Maxley,"  he  called  out,  heartily.  "  Where 
do  you  keep  yourself  now-a-days?  Haven't  seen 
you  for  an  age.  Come  in,  boy,  and  sit  a  while." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Taylor,  but  I  guess  I  can't  stop 
to-night.  It  's  about  supper-time." 

"  Nonsense,  come  in  and  eat  supper  with  us. 
Come  now,  no  more  excuses.  It 's  a  good  while  since 
I  've  had  a  talk  with  you,  and  I  don't  mean  to  let  you 
go  yet." 

Finding  it  useless  to  attempt  further  remon 
strance,  Maxley  succumbed  to  the  force  of  circum 
stances,  and  followed  his  genial  host  into  the  house 
where  Miss  Brannan  had  already  disappeared. 

She  soon  entered  the  cozy  little  room  where  they 
were  all  sitting,  looking  very  sweet  and  attractive  in 
a  neat,  prettily  flowered  cambric,  with  cherry  ribbons 


—  io8  — 

at  her  throat,  and  nestling  against  her  luxuriant  dark 
hair.  A  face  and  figure  that  would  grace  the  richest 
apparel,  yet  so  fresh  and  "  homey  "  in  this  plain  attire 
that  she  called  to  Maxley's  mind  all  sorts  of  vague 
dreams  of  domestic  bliss,  unmarred  by  the  superficial 
ities  of  fashionable  life.  He  began  to  think  that  the 
writer  of  that  letter  was  a  very  fortunate  fellow. 

Miss  Brannan  possessed  courage,  fortitude,  and 
an  indifference  to  the  opinions  of  Mrs.  Grundy,  or  she 
would  not  be  out  here  on  the  frontier  teaching  school 
for  a  livelihood;  and  she  was  true  to  her  lover,  as  the 
burning  blush  a  few  moments  ago  testified. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  introduced  to  Miss  Bran 
nan  ? "  asked  Mr.  Taylor. 

"  No,  not  formally." 

A  presentation  followed,  and  shortly  after  Mrs. 
Taylor  called  them  out  to  supper.  A  variety  of  sub 
jects  were  discussed,  and  then  the  conversation  turned 
on  the  new  minister. 

"  I  think  his  sermon  a  week  ago  last  Sunday  was 
one  of  the  finest  I  ever  heard.  Did  you  not  like  it?  " 
remarked  Miss  Brannan,  turning  to  Maxley,  who  sat 
at  her  left  hand. 

"  I— really — I  was  not  present.  I  seldom  attend 
church,"  responded  Maxley,  with  embarrassment. 

"  Oh,  is  that  so  ?  I  really  think  you  do  not  know 
what  you  miss.  It  is  so  much  better  to  have  Sunday 


different  from  other  days.  Surely  one  sees  enough  of 
sin  here  during  the  week  to  get  as  far  away  from  it 
as  possible  on  the  Sabbath.  And  it  is  a  faint  reminder 
of  home,  although  everything  is  very  rude  and  com 
monplace  here  compared  with  the  magnificent  ap 
pointments  of  Eastern  churches,— the  Word  of  God 
is  the  same." 

Maxley  started  and  grew  pale  as  she  mentioned 
home,  and  replied  in  a  low  tone, — 

"I  don't  doubt  but  you  are  right.  We  miners 
fall  into  rough,  careless  ways  after  knocking  around 
a  while  in  uncivilized  parts  of  the  country." 

"  Then  you  want  some  one  to  set  you  right 
again,"  smiled  Miss  Brannan,  as  she  folded  her  napkin, 
and  they  rose  from  the  table. 

Maxley's  heart  gave  a  sudden  bound  at  her  last 
remark,  with  its  sweet,  smiling  look. 

If  only  his  life  were  not  irremediably  wrecked, 
after  all !  If  he  might  trust  and  love  again,  and  cast 
aside  the  baleful  habits  that  were  dragging  him  down 
to  ruin  !  But  he  must  not  forget  that  this  woman, 
who  so  strangely  occupied  his  thoughts,  and  who  was 
breaking  down  the  barriers  of  reserve  behind  which 
he  had  entrenched  himself,  was  not  free  to  win. 

After  Maxley  had  departed,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Taylor 
declared  to  Claribel  that  they  were  never  so  delighted 


—  no  — 

to  hear  her  say  anything  as  they  were  when  she 
asked  Maxley  about  the  sermon. 

"  Maxley  's  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Taylor,  "  and 
I  always  felt  uncommon^  interested  in  him.  I  want 
to  save  him  from  going  to  ruin  if  I  can.  It  is  rumored 
that  he  was  once  very  much  attached  to  a  beautiful 
girl,  who  went  back  on  him  for  an  old  millionaire, 
and  it  made  another  man  of  him.  He  's  got  folks 
somewhere,  I  know,  by  the  way  he  changed  color 
when  you  spoke  of  home." 

"I  do  believe  you  '11  get  him  out  to  church  yet," 
said  motherly  Mrs.  Taylor.  "You  've  made  an  im 
pression  on  him,  for  he  won't  usually  look  at  a  woman, 
and  he  '11  value  your  good  opinion.  If  you  work  right 
I  believe  you  '11  get  him  to  lead  a  different  life." 

Claribel  thought  she  would  try.  She  was  more 
interested  in  this  proud-faced  miner  than  she  cared 
for  even  her  good  friends,  the  Taylors,  to  know. 

The  next  Sunday  but  one  Bill  Maxley  did  attend 
church.  Claribel,  in  company  with  some  friends, 
passed  him  on  Saturday  evening,  and  told  him  that 
she  was  on  her  way  to  choir  rehearsal.  The  next 
morning,  when  she  lifted  her  head  after  the  opening 
prayer,  and  glanced  aimlessly  over  the  congregation, 
she  gave  a  little  start  as  she  beheld  Max  Ley's  hand 
some  face  in  one  of  the  rows  of  chairs  (for  pews  were 
as  yet  a  thing  unknown  at  Mineral  Hill).  He  was 


—  Ill  — 

looking  at  her,  and  their  eyes  met.  The  pleased 
expression  in  hers  showed  him  that  she  was  gratified 
at  his  presence ;  and,  when  the  choir  arose  to  sing, 
and  Miss  Brannan's  pure,  powerful  soprano  soared 
above  all  others,  he  felt  amply  repaid  for  any  sacri 
fice  that  he  might  have  made  in  conforming  to  her 
desires.  Mr.  Rupert  Monmanier  was  also  a  member 
of  the  congregation,  and  he  kept  his  bold  eyes,  as 
usual,  pertinaciously  fixed  on  Miss  Brannan's  coun 
tenance.  She  was  continually  stumbling  upon  him 
at  all  sorts  of  odd  corners,  until  it  became  evident 
that  these  unexpected  rencontres  were  pre-arranged 
by  him.  He  became  a  perfect  bug-bear  to  her,  yet 
had  not  so  far  violated  the  rules  of  decorum  as  to 
justify  her  in  making  any  decided  complaint  against 
him. 

One  Sunday  evening  Mr.  Taylor  motioned  to 
Bill  Maxley  across  the  church,  as  the  people  were 
going  out  (for  Maxley  was  now  a  regular  attendant), 
and,  meeting  him  near  the  door,  said, — 

"  See  here,  Maxley,  I  want  you  to  take  my  place, 
and  beau  the  schoolma'am  home.  I'm  called  in 
another  direction." 

Maxley  quietly  acquiesced  in  the  arrangement, 
and  offered  his  arm  to  Miss  Brannan,  who  looked 
considerably  astonished  at  this  sudden  change  of 
escorts.  Mr.  Taylor  went  off  chuckling  to  himself. 


—  112 

The  church  was  half  a  mile  from  his  house,  and  there 
would  be  quite  a  favorable  opportunity  for  one  of 
those  tete-a-tetes  that  serve  so  well  to  draw  congenial 
people  nearer  together.  After  this,  whenever  Mrs. 
Taylor  accompanied  her  husband  to  evening  meeting, 
as  she  generally  did,  it  became  in  order  for  Mr.  Max- 
ley  to  escort  Miss  Brannan  home.  In  these  quiet 
interviews  Maxley  from  time  to  time  revealed  bits  of 
his  past  history,  and  finally  was  led  on  to  speak  of 
the  home  he  had  left,  of  the  mother  and  sister  who 
knew  not  his  whereabouts.  He  said  little  about  the 
faithless  Maud,  but  from  his  scanty  revelations  Clari- 
bel  could  guess  the  rest,  and  from  the  depths  of  her 
heart  she  pitied  him,  and  thought  what  a  priceless 
treasure  his  love  must  be.  Each  enjoyed  the  other's 
company,  still  Maxley  believed  Claribel  to  be  prom 
ised  to  another  man,  and  she,  knowing  how  passion 
ately  he  had  loved  the  fair  one  in  the  East,  never 
placed  any  but  a  friendly  construction  on  his  atten 
tions  to  her. 

Darkness  was  gathering  fast  over  Mineral  Hill 
one  evening  when  Miss  Brannan  was  hurrying  home 
from  a  visit  to  a  sick  pupil  who  lived  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  camp.  She  disliked  being  out  alone  after 
dark,  and  was  congratulating  herself  on  being  over 
the  worst  of  the  route,  when  footsteps  suddenly  came 
up  behind  her,  and  before  she  could  turn  around  she 


was  seized  in  a  powerful  embrace,  and  hot  kisses 
were  pressed  upon  her  burning  cheeks. 

"  So,  I  have  you  now,  ray  beauty.  Come,  give 
me  one  on  that  lovely  mouth.  I've  but  a  taste  yet." 

It  was  Rupert  Monmanier's  hated  voice.  Clari- 
bel  struggled  desperately  to  break  away  from  his 
strong  arms,  and  gave  a  sharp  cry  of  terror.  The 
villain  uttered  a  suppressed  oath,  and  placed  one 
hand  firmlv  over  her  mouth  to  prevent  further  out 
cry.  That  one  agonized  shriek  reached  the  ears  of 
Bill  Maxley,  who  was  sitting  in  his  cabin  not  far 
distant.  The  next  instant  he  was  out  in  the  street, 
looking  excitedly  for  the  person  in  distress  who  had 
uttered  it.  Through  the  dim  light  he  saw  a  woman 
struggling  in  the  arms  of  a  man,  and  a  dozen  miners 
rushing  from  their  shanties  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
Maxley  was  the  first  to  reach  the  spot.  With  un 
bounded  amazement  and  wrath,  he  recognized  in  the 
parties  the  school-teacher,  Miss  Brannan,  and  that 
New  York  fop,  Monmanier. 

"  I^et  go  that  lady,  sir,"  thundered  he,  "instantly, 
or,  by  heaven,  I'll  shoot  you  in  your  tracks." 

"  You  will,  hey?  I  reckon  two  can  play  at  that 
game." 

And  Monmanier,  releasing  Claribel,  put  his  right 
hand  in  the  breast  of  his  coat.  Maxley  as  rapidly 
drew  his  pistol,  and  the  miners,  who  came  up  just 


then,  observing  the  critical  aspect  of  affairs,  and 
believing  that  shots  would  be  exchanged  before  any 
one  could  interfere,  deemed  it  expedient  to  keep  out 
of  the  range  of  bullets.  But  Maxley  had  no  inten 
tion  of  firing  at  Monmanier,  since  he  had  set  Miss 
Brannan  at  liberty,  unless  compelled  to  do  so  in  self- 
defense.  Monmaniers  blood  was  up,  and  he  meant 
to  give  that  lordly,  meddlesome  fellow  a  good  dose 
of  cold  lead.  He  raised  his  pistol, — quicker  than  a 
flash,  Claribel  threw  herself  between  him  and  Max- 
ley,  crying,— 

"  For  God's  sake,  do  not  shoot.  You  shall  not 
kill  him." 

"Oh,  you  are  going  to  interfere,  are  you?  I'll 
be  obliged  if  you'll  just  step  out  of  the  way  a 
minute." 

"  Never !  If  you  fire,  the  bullet  shall  go  through 
my  body  before  it  reaches  him." 

And  she  drew  herself  unflinchingly  to  her  utmost 
height,  and  looked  Monmanier  steadily  in  the  eye. 
Maxley  made  a  move  to  place  her  gently  to  one  side, 
but  she  resisted  it. 

"  Oh,  perhaps  he's  a  lover  of  yours.  I  didn't 
think  of  that,"  sneered  Monmanier;  "  and  that's  the 
reason  you  are  so  opposed  to  my  advances." 

"Silence,  you  contemptible  scoundrel!"  cried 
Maxley. 


Monmanier  found  himself  powerless  to  resent 
the  epithet,  the  miners  having  taken  advantage  of 
the  conversation  to  creep  up  behind  him,  pinion  his 
arms,  and  wrest  the  revolver  from  his  hands. 

"  See  here,  my  hearty,"  said  Jake  Peters,  "  don't 
you  go  for  to  try  no  more  o'  your  blasted  tricks. 
'Ta'n't  no  use.  We've  got  the  upper  han's  o'  ye,  an' 
ye  mout  as  well  give  in  fust  as  last." 

"  Jes'  so,  pard,"  chimed  in  Joe  Walker,  "  ef  this 
here  low-lived  'pology  for  a  man,  that's  meaner'n  a 
skunk  an'  a  cayote  to  boot,  don't  wish  he'd  never  sot 
eyes  on  this  here  camp  afore  sun-up  to-morrer  mornin' 
I'm  mistooken.  Gentlemen,  you  kin  give  out  word 
that  there'll  be  a  trial  in  jist  one  hour  down  to  Racer 
Jim's  barn.  Lite  out,  now,  an'  tell  the  boys." 

"All  right,"  came  in  a  chorus  from  the  burly 
miners'  throats. 

And  they  sped  hither  and  yon  over  the  camp, 
spreading  the  news  that  a  lady  had  been  assaulted, 
and  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed  was  to  be  tried  by 
Judge  Lynch  that  night.  Like  wild-fire  the  news 
swept  through  the  streets,  and  hundreds  of  excited 
men  were  soon  gathered  at  the  point  designated. 

Uncouth  though  they  were,  it  was  a  part  of  their 
rough  miner's  code  never  to  allow  an  insult  to  a 
woman  to  pass  unpunished.  They  might  form  low 
associations  with  the  members  of  the  demi  monde  who 


—  n6- 

followed  up  the  mining  camps,  but  a  lady  could  not 
be  treated  with  more  courtesy  if  she  were  a  queen. 
The  fine-looking,  gentle-mannered  school-teacher  was 
well  known  and  greatly  admired,  and  it  looked  as 
though  it  would  go  hard  with  her  persecutor.  Many 
insisted  on  "  stringing  up  "  Monmanier  before  day 
break,  but  the  less  excitable  portion  of  the  throng 
did  not  favor  bloodshed,  but  advocated  his  ejectment 
from  the  camp.  This  measure  was  finally  agreed 
upon,  and  the  cowering  prisoner  was  ordered  to 
"  shake  the  dust  of  Mineral  Hill  from  his  feet  within 
twenty-four  hours,  if  he  valued  his  life." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Mr.  Rupert  Monmanier 
settled  up  his  business  affairs  right  speedily,  and  on 
the  morrow  turned  his  back  forever  on  the  scene  of 
his  discomfiture. 

As  the  miners  led  Monmanier  away  to  his  trial, 
Maxley  fairly  shook  with  agitation  as  he  gazed  upon 
Miss  Brannan,  so  haughtily  erect  but  a  moment  ago, 
now  drooping  and  flushing,  with  eyes  seeking  the 
ground. 

"  My  darling !"  ejaculated  he;  "I  must  say  it! 
How  noble,  how  fearlessly  brave  in  you  to  interpose 
your  precious  person  between  me  and  possible  death ! 
I  shall  never  forget  that  revelation  of  the  grandeur 
of  your  nature,  never  again  say  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  thoroughly  good  woman.  In  the  years  to 


come,  when  you  are  a  happy  wife,  wherever  I  may 
be,  I  shall  reverence  your  memory.  May  the  fortu 
nate  man  who  has  won  your  affection  guard  and 
cherish  it,  as  I  would  if  it  were  in  my  possession. 
God  bless  you,  noblest  of  women." 

His  voice  trembled,  and  his  eyes  grew  suspi 
ciously  moist.  Claribel  started,  and  averted  her  face 
to  hide  her  confusion,  when  Maxley  began  to  speak ; 
but,  as  he  continued,  she  raised  her  head  and  looked 
at  him  in  amazement. 

"  What  can  you  mean,"  she  queried  as  he  ceased, 
"  by  you  references  to  some  other  man  ?  You  speak 
as  if  I  were  engaged,  but  I  am  not." 

"  You  are  not !  "  exclaimed  Maxley.  "  Can  that 
be  true  ?  Did  not  you  imply  as  much  when  I  returned 
to  you  your  lost  letter?  "  impetuously. 

"  Why,  no,  I  did  not.  I  think  I  stated  that  the 
letter  was  from  a  very  dear  friend,  my  old  chum  at 
school." 

"  But  the  masculine  handwriting?  " 

"  Oh,  L,u  has  a  habit  of  giving  her  letters  to  her 
husband  to  address.  He  is  an  editor,  and  writes  a 
great  deal  at  home." 

"  What  a  great  mistake  I  have  made  !  Is  it  too 
late  to  rectify  it  ?"  He  came  closer,  and  took  both 
her  hands  in  his.  "  Would  it  be  possible  for  you  to 
love  me,  my  darling?  " 


—  n8  — 

Anxiously  he  awaited  her  answer.  A  moment's 
silence,  and  then  she  whispered, — 

"Not  only  possible,  but  I  already  love  you 
dearly." 

The  hands  he  grasped  were  quickly  drawn  about 
his  neck,  and  he  held  her  in  a  close  embrace,  his 
heart  too  full  for  utterance. 

After  a  while  they  became  conscious  that  they 
were  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  that  dark 
ness  had  fallen  close  around  them,  and  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Taylor  would  be  feeling  anxious  at  Miss  Bran- 
nan's  prolonged  absence.  So  they  started  off  arm-in 
arm  for  Mr.  Taylor's,  exchanging  as  they  went  bliss 
ful  lovers'  confidences. 

"  You  have  turned  me  from  the  despicable  course 
that  I  was  pursuing,"  said  Will.  "I  have  not  entered 
a  gambling  house  for  three  weeks,  and,  by  God's 
help,  I  never  will  again.  I  will  strive  henceforth  to 
be  worthy  of  my  cherished  wife.  With  you  for  my 
guiding-star,  I  surely  can  not  fail." 

Nor  would  he.  Claribel  Brannan's  strong,  well- 
poised  nature  was  just  the  one  to  call  forth  all  the 
good  there  was  in  Will  Maxley,  and  she  would  never 
fail  him.  In  seasons  of  prosperity  and  happiness, 
she  would  be  the  chief  of  all  his  blessings,  in  days  of 
trial  and  suffering  she  would  be  his  good  angel.  Bet 
ter,  far,  for  Will  Maxley  that  his  first  love,  Maud 


Hazeltine,  deserted  him.  In  Claribel  Brannan  he 
found  a  wife  immeasurably  her  superior.  The  Tay 
lors  were  well  pleased  with  the  turn  of  affairs,  having 
for  some  time  had  the  idea  that  "  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  Bel  and  Will  to  make  a  match." 

When,  two  months  later,  Will  sold  a  mine  for 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  there  seemed  no  need  of 
delaying  their  union,  as  that  sum  appeared  as  amply 
sufficient  for  comfort  to  Claribel  as  ten  times  the 
amount  did  to  Maud  Hazeltine.  A  few  weeks  after 
ward,  the  daily  stage  was  besieged  by  a  crowd  of  well- 
wishers,  come  to  see  "  Bill  Maxley  "  and  his  bride  oft 
on  their  wedding  trip. 

Jake  Peters  and  Joe  Walker  were  there,  their 
faces  beaming  with  approbation.  "  Who'd  a  thought 
it?  "  commented  one  of  the  bystanders;  "  that  that 
air  high-steppin'  feller  as  would  n't  so  much  as  look 
crostways  at  a  woman  would  up  and  git  hitched  afore 
the  year  was  out  ? " 

"All  aboard !  "  shouted  the  driver,  mounting  the 
box,  and  cracking  his  long  whip.  A  plunge  of  the 
horses,  a  flourishing  of  bandanas  in  the  air,  three 
hearty  cheers  for  the  "  woman-hater  "  and  the  "school- 
marm,"  and  the  lumbering  old  coach  whirled  around 
the  corner,  bound  for  the  nearest  railway  station. 

The  sun  was  just  dipping  below  the  western  hor- 
rizon,  casting  a  mellow  light  over  the  autumnal-hued 


—  120  — 

foliage  and  the  pretty  residences  of  that  most  beauti 
ful  of  Boston  suburbs,  Rayville.  A  hack  came 
rumbling  down  one  of  the  broad  streets,  and  drew 
up  before  a  commodious  mansion,  of  tasteful  architect 
ural  design,  surrounded  by  a  well  kept  lawn,  ornament 
ed  with  neat  flower-beds,  a  fountain  splashing  in  the 
centre.  The  gayly  tinted  blossoms  of  summer  had 
yielded  to  the  blighting  touch  of  an  early  frost,  but 
chrysanthemums,  everlastings,  and  other  autumn 
flowers  were  yet  in  bloom.  A  sweet-faced  girl  looked 
out  of  one  of  the  windows  as  the  carriage  stopped 
before  the  front  gate. 

"  Mother,"  she  called;  "some  one  has  come. 
There  is  a  hack  at  the  gate.  Who  can  it  be?  " 

"  I  don't  know  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Maxley,  a 
rather  sad-faced  woman  of  forty-five,  whose  smooth 
bands  of  black  hair  were  thickly  threaded  with  silver. 

A  tall  gentleman  alighted,  and  turned  to  assist 
a  closely  veiled  lady  from  the  carriage.  Trunks  and 
boxes  were  unstrapped  by  the  driver,  and  appearances 
indicated  that,  whoever  the  travelers  were,  they  had 
come  to  stay.  The  gentleman  gave  his  arm  to  his 
companion,  and  they  walked  up  the  graveled  path. 

"O,  mother,"  gasped  the  girl;  "it  is,  it  is  Will! 
O,  mother,  Will  has  come  back!"  and  the  delighted 
girl  flew  to  the  hall  door,  and  threw  it  open  wide  as 
the  pair  ascended  the  piazza,  steps.  Mrs.  Maxley 


—  121  — 

raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  in  a  silent  prayer  of  thanks 
giving  for  the  restoration  of  her  only  son,  and  fol 
lowed  close  upon  her  daughter's  footsteps. 

"  Mother !  "  said  Will  Maxley,  catching  sight  of 
her  matronly  face  ere  she  reached  the  door;  "can you 
forgive  and  welcome  back  the  wanderer?  " 

"  My  boy  !  "  was  the  brief  but  tender  answer,  and 
she  was  folded  in  her  son's  strong  arms. 

Annie  gave  her  brother  a  vigorous  hug  and  a 
shower  of  kisses ;  then  Maxley  turned  with  pride  to 
the  young  lady  who  had  looked  upon  this  family 
reunion  with  moistened  eyes,  and  taking  her  by  the 
hand,  he  led  her  to  his  mother. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  have  brought  you  a  new 
daughter.  Love  her  for  my  sake,  for  she  has  saved 
me  from  ruin. 

"  Bless  her  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Maxley  fervently, 
as  she  received  Claribel  in  a  warm  embrace,  "  but  I 
know  I  shall  love  her  for  her  own  sake." 

"  This  is  Annie,  of  whom  I  have  told  you,"  con 
tinued  Will.  "  Annie,  this  is  your  sister  Bel." 

"  I  am  delighted,"  cried  Annie,  "  to  think  you 
have  brought  home  a  wife  !  Dear  Bel— you  will  let 
me  call  you  so,  won't  you? — you  don't  know  how 
lonely  we  have  been." 

"  But  you  shan't  be  so  any  longer,"  said  Will,  as 
they  entered  a  cozy  parlor.  "  I  am  going  to  settle 


122 


down  for  life  in  the  East.  It  is  my  wife's  birthplace 
as  well  as  mine,  and  here  we  will  stay." 

Happiness  reigned  again  in  the  long-sad  Maxley 
home.  Mrs.  Will  created  quite  a  sensation  in  the 
Rayville  world,  Mrs.  Theophilis  Campernon  even 
casting  decidedly  jealous  eyes  on  her  discarded  lover's 
stately  wife  ;  for  she  had  long  since  become  disgusted 
with  her  captious,  carnal-minded  lord,  and  neither 
wealth  nor  jewels  could  bring  contentment  to  her 
unhappy  heart. 

The  motherless  bride's  cup  of  happiness  was 
filled  to  overflowing  with  the  affection  of  her  new 
found  parent  and  sister.  And  Will  Maxley  never 
ceased  to  bless  the  day  on  which  he  gazed  with  crit 
ical  eyes,  after  the  "  school-ma'am  of  Mineral  Hill." 


THE  TRIALS  OF  JONATHAN  MOLLIFY. 

JONATHAN  MOLLIFY  was  in  despair.  He  was 
CJ  ready  to  take  an  affidavit  that  no  more  hope 
lessly  miserable  specimen  of  the  genus  homo  existed 
than  he,  on  this  beautiful  Monday  morning,  Anno 
Domini  2010,  in  that  rarest  of  favored  countries, —  the 
Golden  State.  This  lugubrious  condition  of  affairs 
was  nothing  new ;  had  it  been,  he  might  have  plucked 
up  courage  and  hoped  for  brighter  days  in  future. 
But,  years  ago,  he  had  given  up  all  faith  in  such 
well-worn  adages  as  "  The  darkest  cloud  has  a  silver 
lining;"  "  Never  was  so  long  a  night  but  was  van 
quished  by  the  light,"  et  coztera.  Stuff  and  nonsense  ! 
The  light  was  a  long  time  coming,  in  his  case,  and 
he  didn't  see  where  it  was  coming  from,  unless  the 
gates  of  a  brighter  world  than  this  mundane  sphere 
should  mercifully  open  before  him.  It  was  all  on 
account  of  Maria,  this  darkness  and  chaos  and  misery, 
and  as  for  any  lifting  of  the  cloud  in  that  direction, 
one  might  as  well  look  for  a  gold  mine  in  the  bottom 
of  Salt  Lake.  Maria  had  the  upper  hand,  and  she 
held  the  reins  taut  and  firm.  They  had  been  in  her 

(123) 


r  124- 

possession  —how  long  ?  It  seemed  an  eternity,  but 
it  could  not  be  but  a  half-dozen  years  or  so,  reckon 
ing  by  little  Jonathan,  who  was  a  babe  in  the  cradle 
when  the  movement  was  crowned  with  success. 
"  Movement  ?"  you  repeat.  Why,yes,the  woman's 
right's  movement  now  in  full  swing  from  shore  to 
shore  of  this  glorious  republic,  and  sweeping  Maria 
Mollify  along  with  it,  well-nigh  to  the  annihilation 
of  her  true  and  trusty  spouse,  Jonathan.  Here  it 
was  Monday  morning,  and  Maria,  despite  her  long 
residence  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  positively  would  not 
forget  the  principle  inculcated  in  her  youth,  among 
the  far-famed  Yankees,  that,  whate'er  betide,  Monday 
is  wash-day.  Yea,  though  the  skies  fall,  the  week's 
washing  must  be  done,  and  Monday  is  the  appointed 
time.  Jonathan  was  not  sensible  of  any  decided 
objection  to  this  programme,  provided  Maria  would 
interview  the  tub  and  wash-board  herself,  but,  alas ! 
this  was  not  the  order  of  the  day  in  the  new  dispen 
sation.  Maria  was  up  and  away,  bright  and  early, 
on  official  business  connected  with  the  annual  con 
vention  of  the  Grand  Union  Female  Association  of 
Liberty  and  Equality,  which  was  announced  to  begin 
at  nine  A.  M.  of  this  very  day,  continuing  through 
the  week ;  and  Jonathan  could  still  hear  her  metallic 
voice  calling  from  the  buggy,  as  she  gave  the  dejected 
steed  a  cut  of  the  whip,  and  rattled  out  of  the  yard. 


—  125- 

"  Hurry  up,  now,  and  get  that  wash  out  a  dryin' 
in  some  kind  of  season.  And  don't  let  Jeremiah  get 
into  mischief.  And  remember,  I  shall  be  home  to 
dinner  at  twelve  o'clock,  sharp !  " 

Shades  of  Erebus !  what  a  change  in  that 
woman's  voice  since  those  foolish  days,  ten  years  ago, 
when  they  two  went  "sparking"  down  by  the  river 
bank,  where  the  violets  grew  the  thickest,  and  the 
birds  caroled  the  sweetest,  as  if  in  sympathy  with  the 
lovers  who  strolled  through  their  shady  retreats. 
Foolish  days!  yet  Jonathan  liked  to  recall  them.  But 
for  the  memory  of  them,  he  sometimes  feared  he 
would  throw  off  the  galling  yoke,  and  launch  into 
the  sea  of  eternity. 

Who  could  have  foreseen  such  a  contingency  as 
this?  who  realized  the  startling  changes,  arising  from 
progressive  times,  which  had  metamorphosed  sweet 
Maria  Moulton  into  the  present  terrible  Maria  Mol 
lify  ?  Not  Jonathan  Mollify,  or  never  would  he  have 
slipped  his  neck  into  the  noose  matrimonial, — that 
was  as  certain  as  tradesmen's  bills  at  New  Year's. 
But  there  was  no  disputing  the  fact, — women  were 
now  voters,  office-holders,  and  proprietors  generally ; 
and  perhaps  it  was  a  natural  sequence  of  centuries 
of —so-called — oppression  that  they  carried  their  new 
dignities  and  responsibilities  in  a  very  high-handed 
manner,  assuming  the  authority  in  domestic  matters 


-  126  — 

as  well  as  the  lion's  share  in  political  affairs.  Any 
how  Maria  Mollify  was  not  going  to  be  outdone  by 
any  one  else,  either  at  home  or  abroad.  She  gloried 
in  the  opportunity  to  display  abilities  that  lay  dor 
mant  and  unrecognized  prior  to  that  grand  and  mem 
orable  day  when  the  emancipation  of  the  female  sex 
was  legally  effected.  Ah,  well-a-day  !  it  had  been 
rough  sailing  for  the  discomfited  masculines  ever 
since,  especially  for  those  who,  like  himself,  were  so 
unfortunate  as  to  be  bound  hard  and  fast  by  the  ties 
of  wedlock,  to  a  bright  and  shining  star,  a  leader 
invincible  and  undaunted,  in  the  new  dominion. 
Maria's  services  were  constantly  in  demand,  and  her 
time  was  consequently  too  valuable  to  be  spent  in 
obscurity  at  home.  Jonathan  being  of  less  note  and 
usefulness  in  the  political  world,  must  render  himself 
of  service  at  the  hearthstone.  This  Maria  thought 
eminently  proper  and  consistent.  It  was,  therefore, 
Jonathan  who  washed  the  dishes,  cooked  the  meals — 
on  time,  too,  or  he  rued  his  tardiness — tended  the 
babies,  and  otherwise  kept  oiled  and  in  motion  the 
machinery  of  the  household.  And  this  it  was  which 
had  transformed  him  from  a  joyous  bridegroom  to  a 
disheartened  spiritless  shadow  of  a  man. 

"  Ouch !  ou-ou-ou  ouch  !  "  came  a  mighty  howl 
from  the  kitchen.  "  Papa  !  papa  !  I  want  my  papa  ! 
ow-ow-ow-ow !  " 


-  127  - 

"  Great  goodness !  what's  that  child  into  now  ? 
Maria  charged  me  to  look  after  him,  and  I  forgot  all 
about  it.  Blast  it  all  !  Hush  up,  Jerry,  can't  you  ? 
Don't  make  such  an  all-fired  racket." 

No  more  reveries  for  Jonathan  Mollify.  In  the 
middle  of  the  cluttered  kitchen,  his  hands,  face  and 
dress  besmeared  with  soft  soap,  the  bucket  from 
which  it  had  been  abstracted  upset  on  the  floor,  stood 
the  originator  of  the  howl  in  question,  a  chubby,  two- 
year  old  boy,  and  as  disgusted  a  looking  one  as  ever 
tampered  with  presumable  sweets. 

"  Me  sit,  papa,"  wailed  the  child,  with  contorted 
face  ;  "  me  dretful  sit.  Boo-hoo-o-o  !  " 

"  Where  are  you  sick?"  queried  papa,  drawing 
the  disconsolate  object  toward  a  wash-basin,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  remove  the  brown-hued  covering  from  his 
lineaments.  "  What  business  had  you  meddling  with 
that  soap-bucket,  any  how,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  Never 
saw  such  young  ones !  It  isn't  me  they  take  after." 

Here  Jerry  gave  unmistakable  indications  of  the 
locality  of  the  alleged  sickness,  by  saying  : 

"  Mestummit,  papa,  me  stuinmit.  Boo-hoo-o-o-o!" 

"Jeremiah  Mollify,  didn't  you  know  any  better 
than  to  eat  that  stuff?  Well,  this  is  a  mess.  No  won 
der  you're  sick !  That  washing  won't  get  out  in  a 
hurry,  I'm  thinking,  with  you  to  attend  to." 


—  128  — 

"  Papa  toss !  Don't,  papa,  be  toss  to  Jerry.  Jerry 
sit." 

And  the  papa  loved  his  little  boy  too  well  to  hold 
out  long  in  the  face  of  genuine  distress. 

But  the  sick  one  had  to  be  coddled  and  com 
forted  and  put  to  sleep,  and  all  the  time  the  sun  was 
mounting  higher  in  the  heaven,  and  the  clothes  lay 
soaking  in  the  tubs.  The  child's  troubles  forgotten 
in  slumber,  Jonathan  plunged  into  the  work  of  the 
day  in  good  earnest.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before 
another  interruption  came,  in  the  shape  of  a  dripping 
boy  of  six  or  seven,  also  the  possessor  of  a  strong  pair 
of  lungs,  which  he  was  using  actively. 

"  Now,  what  in  creation's  the  matter  with  you?" 
demanded  the  irate  father.  "  Where' ve  you  been  to 
get  so  wet  ?  Speak  this  minute,  Jonathan  !  How 
came  yeu  out  of  school  ?  " 

"  I — I — went  d-down  t-to  the  fish-pond,  'long  the 
other  boys,  't  recess,  an' — an' — Jake  Hudson,  he 
p-pushed  me  in." 

"  Well,  Jake  Hudson  had  better  mind  his  own 
business,  or  I'll  give  him  something  some  day 
that  he  won't  like.  And  you  can  just  keep  away 
from  that  fish  pond  after  this.  If  I  ever  hear  of  you 
going  there  again  I'll  see  about  it !  Now  I've  got  to 
stop  and  hunt  up  dry  clothes  for  you,  or  else  you'll 
be  down  with  sore  throat  or  something,  and  then  I'll 


—  129  — 

never  hear  the  last  of  it.  Stop  your  bawling,  and 
come  along  into  the  house." 

Jonathan,  junior,  attended  to,  the  advancing 
hand  of  the  clock  warned  Mr.  Mollify  that  the  dinner 
hour  was  at  hand,  and  no  preparations  had  been 
made  for  the  meal. 

"  Twelve  o'clock  sharp,  Maria  said,"  he  groaned  ; 
"  and  she'll  be  here,  sure  as  fate.  Seems  to  me  I 
hear  the  rattling  of  the  wagon  now,  and  there  a'n't 
any  kindlin'  chopped  nor  nothin  ready.  Dear,  dear, 
I  'm  in  for  it." 

"It"  may  be  a  mysterious  word  to  the  reader,  but 
it  was  not  to  Jonathan  Mollify.  "  It  "  in  his  vocabu 
lary,  was  fraught  with  meaning,  and  that  meaning 
was  indissolubly  connected  with  the  lordly  Maria's 
tongue.  Alive  to  the  exigencies  of  the  case,  he  trot 
ted  around  endeavoring  to  make  a  good  show  of  his 
morning's  work, — for  well  he  knew  it  would  undergo 
inspection  from  Argus  eyes, —  stringing  part  of  the 
clothes  conspicuously  upon  the  line,  scrabbling  to 
gether  and  out  of  sight  some  of  the  rubbish  that  lay 
in  confusion  about  the  kitchen  floor;  and,  the  per 
spiration  trickling  down  his  face,  was  frantically  chop 
ping  kindling  when  Maria  Mollify  drove  briskly  into 
the  yard.  An  ominous  look  settled  upon  her  counte 
nance  as  she  espied  the  flurried  Jonathan,  and 
conjectured  that  her  orders  had  not  been  faithfully 


executed.  Hitching  the  horse,  and  striding  judicially 
into  the  kitchen,  she  surveyed  the  situation,  and  her 
displeasure  found  prompt  utterance. 

"  What!  no  dinner  ready,  and  the  fire  not  even 
built !  Jonathan  Mollify,  you  lazy,  good-for-nothing 
man,  what  have  you  been  doing  all  the  forenoon? 
Not  more  'n  half  the  wash  out,  either,"  going  to  the 
door,  and  giving  a  contemptuous  sniff  at  the  clothes 
line.  "Well,  if  this  is  n't  enough  to  provoke  a  saint. 
Here  I  've  been  hard  at  work  ever  since  I  opened  my 
eyes  this  morning,  and  now  I  can't  get  a  bite  of  any 
thing  to  eat.  I  do  believe  I  shall  faint  away." 

She  sank  into  a  chair  with  an  air  of  profound 
exhaustion  and  pitiful  martyrdom.  Jonathan  grabbed 
the  vinegar  bottle,  and  thrust  it  under  her  nostrils  so 
vehemently  that  she  recoiled  with  indignation. 

"  Don't  faint,  Maria,  mercy  on  us,  don't  faint ! 
I  '11  have  dinner  ready  in  five  minutes.  It  's  been  a 
dreadful  unlucky  day,  Maria,  and  I  could  n't  do  no 
better;  I  could  n't,  positively." 

What  on  earth  was  the  matter  with  Maria's  nose  ? 
It  never  used  to  loom  up  like  that.  Why,  it  was 
frightful.  Was  it  going  to  keep  on  developing  in 
like  ratio  in  the  years  to  come?  Jonathan  shrank 
from  the  contemplation  of  such  a  possibility. 

His  conciliating  tone  did  not  produce  the  desired 


effect.  Overcoming  her  momentary  weakness,  Maria 
rose  in  wrath  unappeasable. 

"  Don't  you  stand  gawkin'  at  me  another  minute, 
Jonathan  Mollify  I  've  had  to  bear  enough  to-day  at 
the  convention  without  being  annoyed  at  home.  Hard 
as  I  've  worked,  and  as  much  money  as  I  've  spent  in 
the  cause,  if  it  a'n't  maddening  to  have  another  wo 
man — a  mere  stranger,  and  of  no  account  at  all,  except 
for  her  pretty  face  and  load  of  jewelry — put  above 
me,  and  made  president  of  the  day,  I  'd  like  to  know 
what  is  ?  It  's  the  first  time  since  the  society  was  or 
ganized  that  anybody's  got  ahead  of  me  like  that, 
and  I  just  won't  stand  it.  Do  you  hustle  round  and 
make  that  fire,  or  I  '11  know  the  reason  why." 

What  was  the  reason  that  Jonathan  could  not 
budge  ? 

"  Do  you  hear  me?  Get  up  and  make  the  fire. 
It  's  late." 

A  sudden  and  astonishing  spirit  of  bravery  per 
vaded  the  down-trodden  man.  He  felt  like  a  lion. 
He  was  n't  going  to  stand  any  more  of  Maria's  hen- 
pecking, — no,  not  one  atom  more.  Not  even  though 
she  had  the  audacity  to  shake  him,  and  yell  in  his  ear 
the  same  old  refrain.  "  Get  up  Jonathan  !  get  up  and 
make  the  fire." 

"  I  '11  be  cussed  if  I  will,"  he  roared.  "  I  '11  never 
touch  that  blamed  old  stove  again  as  long  as  I  live. 


—  132  — 

I  Ve  stood  this  sort  of  thing  long  enough.  If  you 
want  a  fire,  build  it  yourself." 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  never  thought  you'd  speak  so 
to  me,  Johnnie,"  grieved  a  plaintive  voice. 

"  You  can  '  Johnnie'  me  as  much  as  you  like,  but 
you  can't  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes  that  way.  I 
tell  you  I  won't  do  it.  Build  it  yourself." 

"  There,  now,  it 's  true,  it  's  true  what  Sarah 
Snifkins  told  me,  that  I  was  a  fool  to  get  married,  for 
my  husband  would  domineer  over  me  in  less  than 
six  months,  and  make  me  do  all  the  chores.  I  got 
mad  at  her,  and  said  I  knew  my  Johnnie  never  would 
do  any  such  thing ;  but  now  you  have,  you  have,  and 
I  'me  going  right  straight  h-home  to  my  m-ma !  " 

John  Mollify  sat  up  in  bed,  and  stared  at  his 
weeping  wife. 

"Why — what — where  am  I,  anyhow?  Where's 
Jonathan  and  Jeremiah,  and  the  rest  of  the  babies  ? 
Isn't  it  2010?  " 

"  Two  thousand  ten,  you  crazy  man  !  Of  course 
not.  And  what  do  you  mean  by  talking  about  the 
babies?  We  havn't  any  babies,  Johnnie." 

Maria  blushed  rosy  red,  and  gazed  in  wide-eyed 
astonishment  at  her  bewildered  husband. 

"  And  you're  not  President  of  the  Grand  Union 
Female  Association  of  Liberty  and  Equality  ?  Let 
me  see  your  nose." 


-  133- 

Maria  by  this  time  had  serious  doubts  as  to  the 
man's  sanity.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  afraid  of 
him.  Her  nose,  indeed. 

"  Cunning  as  ever,"  he  said,  investigating  the 
member.  "  By  George,  Maria,  I  believe  I  must  have 
been  dreaming.  I  say,  ducky,  what  were  you  crying 
about?  Was  I  cross  to  you?  Never  mind,  pet,  you 
know  I  didn't  mean  it.  I  was  asleep.  Kiss  and  make 
up." 

"  O,  Johnnie,  how  you  did  frighten  me  !  I'm 
ever  so  glad  it  was  only  a  dream.  But  you'll  have  to 
get  up,  quick,  for  you've  overslept — we're  half  an 
hour  late.  It's  those  oysters,  I  know.  I  told  you 
last  night  not  to  eat  too  many." 

John  dressed  himself  hastily,  an  abstracted  look 
still  upon  his  face. 

"  What  were  you  dreaming  about,  Johnnie?  " 

Mr.  Mollify  was  intently  hunting  for  his  other 
boot. 

"  I  say,  Johnnie,  what  were  you  dreaming 
about?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  pulling  the  missing  article  out 
from  under  the  bed  ;  "  that  is,  I  don't  remember.  I 
never  can  remember  my  dreams,  can  you?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sometimes,"  asserted  the  curious  wife. 
"  I  wish  you  would  try  and  remember  this  one.  You 
acted  so  strangely." 


-134- 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  down  to  Norwell's  to-day, 
and  buy  that  crushed-strawberry  hat  you  admired  so 
much  yesterday?" 

An  abrupt  change  of  subject,  but  an  agreeable 
one. 

"  O  you  darling,  of  course  I  do  !  Can  I  really 
have  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  John,  "  I  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  make 
you  a  present.  That's  because  you  are  such  a  good 
little  wife.  You'd  better  go  the  first  thing,  before 
any  one  else  gets  it." 

"  You  dear  boy  !  "  cried  Maria  delightedly.  "  Be 
cause  I  don't  really  need  it,  you  know.  But  it's  such 
a  beauty." 

John  said  nothing,  but  wrestled  with  the  kitchen 
stove,  congratulating  himself  that  he  was  only  six 
months  married,  and  that  his  wife  didn't  know  the 
difference  between  nomination  and  election,  or  any 
other  political  terms. 


REUBEN  HALL'S  CHRISTMAS. 


"  CHRISTMAS!  fol-de-rol !  What's  Christmas 
V_^  more'n  any  other  day?  I've  no  money  to 
spare  for  such  foolish  notions.  I  reckon  what  we 
have  year  in  'n  3^ear  out  's  plenty  good  enough  for 
any  day,  no  matter  'f  'tis  Christmas." 

"  But,  Reuben,  the  children  would  be  ^pleased," 
Here  the  span  of  bays  broke  into  a  sharp  trot  urged 
by  Farmer  Hall's  relentless  whip,  and  the  old  market 
wagon,  devoid  of  springs  or  cushions,  rattled  and 
jolted  so  persistent!)'  that  further  conversation  was 
rendered  impossible.  Good  Mrs.  Hall  could  do  naught 
but  cling  desperately  to  the  seat  and  gaze  reproach 
fully  at  her  obdurate  husband.  Not  another  word 
spoke  Reuben  until  they  reached  home,  and  then, 
ignoring  the  subject  uppermost  in  her  heart,  he 
bluntly  remarked :  "  Reckon  you'll  have  to  spin 
around  lively  to  get  supper  in  season,"  offering  no 
assistance  as  she  cautiously  descended  from  her  lofty 
perch. 

The  door  opened  quickly  and  a  brace  of  blue- 
eyed,  fair-haired  girls  of  fourteen  years  of  age  ran 

(135) 


-    136- 

gaily  to  meet  the  tired  woman,  and  took  the  pack 
ages  of  tea  and  coffee,  soap  and  candles,  and  other  use 
ful  articles,  from  her  arms.  Her  worn,  sad  face  lighted 
up  as  she  followed  her  twin  daughters  into  the  warm 
kitchen,  there  to  behold  the  table  nicely  spread  for 
supper  and  the  bread  she  had  expected  to  mold  and 
bake,  in  beautifully  browned  loaves  upon  the  cake- 
board. 

(<  I  did  it  myself,  mother,"  said  Gertrude,  delight 
edly,  "  and  it's  just  as  nice !  I  think  it's  such  fun  to 
make  bread." 

lyittle  Mrs.  Hall  made  up  her  mind  that  if  it  were 
not  "  fun  "  to  come  home  and  find  nothing  to  do  till 
milking-time,  it  was  something  akin  to  it,  and  her 
voice  was  a  little  unsteady  as  she  praised  the  girls  for 
their  thought  fulness,  and  then  inquired  for  Johnnie. 

"Johnnie?  Oh,  he's  in  the  stable,  I  guess.  He 
stays  in  there  every  day,  but  I  can't  think  what  tie 
does  it  for." 

"  Mamma,"  interposed  Katie,  "  did  you  say  any 
thing  to  father  about  Christmas?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  did,  but  I'm  afraid,  girls,  you  will 
have  to  get  along  as  usual.  I  couldn't  seem  to  make 
any  impression  on  him." 

"  Now,  I  call  that  too  mean  for  anything,"  sobbed 
Katie,  "  when  everybody  else  has  such  good  times, 
too."  A  heavy  footstep,  and  the  opening  door 


—  137  — 

silenced  the  words  upon  her  lips,  and  Johnnie,  a 
sturdy  boy  of  eleven,  having  made  his  appearance, 
the  family  sat  down  to  supper. 

Reuben  Hall  would  have  been  greatly  astonished 
if  anyone  had  told  him  he  was  not  a  good  man.  He 
considered  himself  an  exemplary  citizen,  attended 
church  oftener  than  some  of  his  neighbors,  worked 
hard  and  saw  that  his  family  always  had  plenty  to  eat 
and  drink.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that,  while  pro 
viding  for  their  most  pressing  temporal  wants,  he 
withheld  entirely  too  much  for  which  their  souls  hun 
gered.  He  did  not  realize  that  his  patient  wife  would 
willingly  have  gone  without  food  for  a  day  for  the 
sake  of  an  endearing  word  that  never  came,  or  a  fond 
look  from  the  eyes  that  rested  so  indifferently  upon 
her.  He  had  no  patience  with  the  longings  of  his 
children  for  beautiful  surroundings,  pretty  clothes, 
entertaining  books,  pictures,  and  the  like.  "  All  fol- 
de-rol !"  was  his  favorite  comment,  and  the  well-worn 
money  pouch  was  never  opened  in  response  to 
entreaties  for  such  pleasures. 

The  mother  had  broached  the  subject  of  cele 
brating  Christmas  while  in  the  neighboring  city,  mark 
eting  with  her  husband,  but,  as  has  been  perceived, 
without  the  desired  result.  Reuben  Hall  had  a  com 
fortable  bank  account,  and  was  making  money  on  his 


—  138  — 

ranch,  but  lie  had  nothing  to  spare  for  Christmas 
"  foolery,"  as  he  termed  it. 

A  week  passed.  One  morning  Mr.  Hall  made  his 
appearance  in  the  kitchen  with  a  troubled  coun 
tenance. 

"  Mother,"  he  queried,  "  can't  you  fly  around  and 
catch  the  ten  o'clock  train  for  Bay  City?  " 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Reuben  ! "  and  down  went  a 
shower  of  milk  on  the  astonished  cat.  Hastily  set 
ting  down  the  pan,  Mrs.  Hall  interrogated.  "  What 
do  you  want  me  to  go  to  Bay  City  for?"  It  was 
indeed  a  strange  request  for  her  husband  to  make, 
since  he  seldom  thought  it  necessary  for  anyone  but 
himself  to  leave  home,  with  its  duties. 

"  It's  about  that  business  with  Symonds — he  sends 
word  it  must  be  attended  to  to  day,  and  you  know 
what  Symonds  is — he  won't  wait  for  nobody.  I'd 
oughter  go  myself,  but  it's  no  use,  I  can't  with  all 
that  seeding  to  be  done  and  the  men  in  the  field 
a-ready.  So  you  just  put  on  your  bunnit  and  I'll 
drive  you  right  over  to  the  depot.  Be  quick  ;  I  don't 
want  to  lose  110  more  time  'an  I  can  help." 

Mrs.  Hall,  considerably  flustered,  complied  with 
her  husband's  request,  and  in  ten  minutes  was  speed 
ing  on  her  way  to  the  station,  three  miles  distant, 
while  Gertrude  and  Katie  assumed,  to  the  best  of 
their  ability,  the  tasks  to  be  performed  in  her  absence. 


-   139- 

The  day  wore  on,  and  the  early  twilight  fell  over 
the  broad  valley.  The  train  from  Bay  City  was  not 
due  until  seven  o'clock.  Supper  was  served  promptly 
by  the  girls,  and  then  the  farmer,  sitting  outside  the 
door  enjoying  his  pipe  preparatory  to  the  drive  over 
to  the  station,  in  the  mild  December  air  peculiar  to 
Southern  California,  overheard  a  conversation  between 
his  daughters  as  they  busily  set  the  kitchen  to  rights, 
taking  care  to  reserve  in  a  warm  place  for  "  mother" 
the  choicest  portions  of  the  meal.  They  evidently 
had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  within  hearing,  and 
their  outspoken  comments  strangely  disturbed  the 
involuntary  listener. 

"  I  just  wish  father  would  do  different,"  said 
Katie,  "  we  should  love  him  so  much  more,  and  I'm 
sure  mother  would  be  happier." 

"  Yes,"  indeed,"  replied  Gertrude,  "  only  last 
night  I  found  her  crying  in  the  west  room,  with  a 
lot  of  old  letters  in  her  lap.  She  tried  to  hide  them 
under  her  apron,  but  I  coaxed  her  to  let  me  peep  at 
them,  and  what  do  you  think  they  were  ?  Old  love- 
letters  of  father's,  and  they  must  have  been  ever  so 
sweet,  for  I  caught  sight  of  '  dears '  and  '  darlings  ' 
enough  for  anybody  !  Would  you  believe  from  the 
way  father  treats  mother  now  that  he  ever  made  love 
to  her  ?  I  know  she  was  thinking  of  the  difference, 
and  that  was  what  made  her  cry.  I  don't  think  a 


—  140  — 

man  has  any  business  to  promise  a  girl  all  sorts  of 
things  to,  make  her  happy,  and  then  take  no  pains  to 
keep  his  word,  but  just  make  a  servant  of  her," 
exclaimed  Katie,  impulsively.  "  Did  you  ever  in 
your  life  hear  father  call  mother  a  pet  name  ?  And 
see  how  thoughtless  he  is  about  her  health !  If  he 
won't  let  us  have  a  good  time,  I  do  wish  he  would  be 
more  kind  to  her." 

Gertrude,  whose  temperament  was  more  sedate, 
said  :  "  It  is  not  nice  of  us  to  be  talking  so  about  our 
father,  but  I  can't  help  wondering  sometimes  how  he 
would  feel  if  mother  should  die." 

A  shock  went  over  Reuben  Hall's  sturdy  frame. 
"  If  mother  should  die  !"  Visions,  hitherto  strangers 
to  his  thoughts,  flitted  through  his  brain.  It  was 
not  impossible — "  mother  "  might  die — and  what 
then  ?  In  one  great  rush  of  awakened  feeling,  the 
man  realized  how  empty  life  would  be  to  him  with 
out  the  chosen  companion  of  his  early  manhood  and 
matured  years.  The  anger  which  had  arisen  at  the 
harsh  criticism  of  his  children  faded  away,  and  was 
replaced  by  a  chaos  of  thoughts  which  were  very  dis 
agreeable  to  entertain.  Thus  aroused,  and  condemn 
ing  himself  for  having  allowed  his  wife  to  take  such 
a  sudden  journey,  he  harnessed  the  bays  and  departed 
for  the  station  to  meet  her.  It  was  now  quite  dark, 
save  for  the  twinkling  stars  which  thickly  studded 


the  heavens,  but  the  faithful  horses  knew  the  road 
well,  and  soon  landed  him  at  the  depot,  where  a  few 
loungers  were  awaiting  the  coming  of  the  train.  Ten, 
fifteen,  twenty  minutes  passed,  but  no  shrill  whistle 
broke  the  stillness  of  the  night.  The  station  master 
began  to  look  perplexed. 

"  Where's  yer  train  ?  "  halloeed  an  idler. 

"You  know  as  much  about  it  as  I  do,"  was  the 
answer.  "  It  ought  to  have  been  here  ten  minutes 
ago."  Another  wait,  and  then  everybody  began  to 
get  excited. 

"  Something's  happened  sure  as  you  live," 
declared  Nathen  Bent,  a  neighbor  of  the  Halls,  to 
Reuben. 

"  Great  God !  I'm  afraid  there  has — and  my  wife 
is  on  the  train."  The  man  shook  like  a  leaf,  and 
great  drops  of  perspiration  coursed  down  his  face. 

"  You  don't  say  !"  and  a  circle  gathered  around 
Reuben.  "  It  looks  mighty  bad,  and  that's  a  fact,  but 
don't  give  up  heart  yet,  neighbor." 

The  click  of  the  telegraph  at  last  put  an  end  to 
the  dreadful  suspense,  but  the  tidings  it  brought  were 
sad  indeed  :  "  Collision  between  Mendon  and  Langley. 
Seven  killed  and  twelve  injured."  Not  a  word  more ! 
nothing  to  cool  the  fever  heat  in  every  breast. 

Reuben  Hall  groaned  in  anguish  of  spirit.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  his  wife  could  be  uninjured, 


-  142  - 

while  the  chances  were  great  that  she  was  among  the 
killed.  Few,  if  any,  could  have  escaped  unhurt,  for 
there  never  were  many  passengers  on  this  train- 
often  less  than  the  number  reported  as  victims  of  the 
disaster.  How  could  it  have  happened  ?  Oh,  if  he 
had  not  sent  her  on  the  fateful  journey !  If  he  had 
gone  himself,  as  he  ought,  seeding  or  no  seeding,  she 
would  now  be  safe  at  home  by  the  fireside,  while  he 
—where  would  he  be?  The  strong  man  trembled, 
and  confessed  to  his  accusing  conscience  that  he  was 
not  as  well  prepared  to  go  before  the  tribunal  of 
Heavenly  justice  as  his  faithful  wife.  By  a  chance 
turn  of  Fortune's  wheel,  he  was  spared  this  time,  but 
his  summons  might  come  in  an  equally  unsuspected 
manner.  Would  it  find  him  in  readiness  ? 

"  They'll  telegraph  back  to  Bay  City,  likely,  for 
a  relief  train,"  said  someone,  '  and  then  they'll  come 
on  down  this  way.  They'd  orter  be  here  in  a  couple 
of  hours."  Two  hours  !  What  an  eternity  of  misery 
can  be  condensed  in  that  short  space  of  time  !  Two 
hours  before  Reuben  Hall  could  know  whether  his 
wife,  who  never  before  seemed  so  dear,  still  existed. 
Who  shall  portray  the  emotions  which  were  experi 
enced  by  the  unhappy  man  in  that  period  of  waiting 
for  the  knowledge  which  might  be  so  crushing  when 
it  came  ? 

Gertrude,  Katie  and  Johnnie,  sitting  in  the  bright 


-  H3  - 

kitchen,  listening  for  the  familiar  rattle  of  the  old 
market  wagon,  grew  sleepy  and  finally  alarmed  at  the 
non-appearance  of  their  parents.  Nine  o'clock,  ten 
struck,  still  the  welcome  sound  came  cot.  The  appe 
tizing  supper  prepared  for  the  tired  mother  dried  in 
the  oven,  and  the  unheeded  fire  went  out.  A  chill 
crept  over  the  little  room,  and  over  the  hearts  of  the 
frightened  children.  The  hands  crept  slowly  around 
to  eleven ;  once  more  the  clock  struck,  still  the 
silence  was  unbroken,  save  by  sobs  and  hushed 
words.  All  at  once  Gertrude  sprang  up  and  cried, 
"  What  are  we  sitting  here  doing  nothing  for,  when 
father  and  mother  may  have  been  thrown  out,  and  no 
one  to  help  them  !  I'm  going  over  to  Mr.  Norton's." 
They  were  all  too  excited  to  reflect  that,  had  such  an 
accident  occurred,  the  horses  would  probably  have 
come  straight  home ;  and  Gertrude  opened  the  door 
to  carry  out  her  purpose  of  arousing  the  neighbors 
when  — could  she  believe  her  ears — far  away  she 
heard  a  faint  rumble  on  the  depot  road.  "Listen, 
Katie;  listen,  Johnnie,"  she  cried,  quivering  with 
excitement,  while  brother  and  sister  flew  to  the  open 
door.  The  rumble  grew  louder.  "  It  is,  it  is,  they 
are  coming  at  last,"  and  they  fairly  danced  for  joy. 

Yes,  coming  at  a  pace  to  which  the  steady  bays 
were  seldom  put — coming  with  a  rattle  and  flourish 
up  to  the  garden  gate. 


-  144 

Down  sprang  Reuben  Hall  with  more  activity 
than  he  had  shown  for  years,  then  turned  and  care 
fully  lifted  from  the  high  seat  a  pale,  exhausted  little 
woman.  What  was  the  girls'  surprise  to  see  their 
father  carry  her  quite  to  the  kitchen  door,  where  he 
deposited  his  burden,  and  said  in  a  low  tone  to  which 
his  children's  ears  were  not  accustomed,  "  Don't 
bother  your  mother  with  no  more  questions,  but  get 
her  right  to  bed,  and  fix  her  a  cup  of  hot  tea.  She's 
dead  beat  out."  Then,  seeing  the  looks  of  wonder 
and  the  traces  of  tears,  he  continued:  "There's 
been  a  smash-up  on  the  road,  audit's  a  wonder  your 
mother  wa'nt  hurt.  She's  been  doing  for  them  that 
was  till  she  can't  hardly  stand.  I  'spose  you  got 
scared,  didn't  ye?" 

It  was  a  happy,  thankful  family  that  gathered 
around  the  breakfast  table  at  an  unusually  late  hour 
the  next  morning.  Little  Mrs.  Hall  looked  like  a 
new  being,  despite  her  fatigue,  with  such  a  pretty 
pink  flush  on  her  cheeks,  and  such  a  bright  light  in 
the  e}res  that  looked  almost  with  girlish  shyness  over 
to  the  face  of  her  husband.  The  remembrance  of 
the  fervent  embrace,  like  those  of  old  which  she  had 
long  missed,  that  he  had  given  her  on  the  arrival  of 
the  relief  train  at  the  station,  was  fresh  in  her  mind  ; 
also,  the  agitation  he  had  shown,  and  the  deference 
of  his  manner  ever  since.  Her  heart  had  not  been 


-  H5- 

so  light  for  years,  and  surely  no  breakfast  was  ever 
so  good  as  this  !  A  corresponding  change  had  crept 
over  Mr.  Hall's  countenance.  The  children  wondered 
that  they  had  never  thought  their  father  fine-looking 
before,  and  rejoiced  at  the  removal  of  the  cloud  which 
had  rested  over  the  household. 

It  would  be  folly  to  assert  that  Reuben  Hall 
never  for  a  moment  relapsed  into  the  old  ways — 
human  nature  is  weak,  and  the  force  of  habit  strong 
— but  he  pulled  himself  up  short  when  he  realized  his 
remissness  and  strove  to  make  amends  by  redoubled 
kindness  towards  his  family. 

Christmas  came,  and  proved  the  merriest  that  the 
Halls  had  ever  known.  In  the  first  place,  there  was 
a  row  of  stockings,  stuffed  full  and  running  over, 
hanging  by  the  sitting  room  fire-place,  and  more  good 
things  came  out  of  those  receptacles  than  I  can  begin 
to  enumerate.  Then,  about  ten  o'clock,  who  should 
drive  up  to  the  door,  in  a  brand  new,  covered  car 
riage,  but  Mr  Hall,  and  the  bays,  in  shining,  silver- 
mounted  harness,  held  their  heads  high  in  seeming 
consciousness  of  their  improved  appearance. 

"  Thought  we  might  as  well  have  a  decent  turn 
out,"  said  Reuben,  "  seein'  the  old  market  wagon  's 
done  duty  so  long."  And  then  he  commanded  them 
all  to  "  git  on  their  best  fixin's  and  ride  over  to  aunt 
Sarah's"  to  a  turkey  dinner  that  had  been  prepared 


-  146  — 

for  their  coming.  And  when  they  got  home  there 
was  the  best  room  so  metamorphosed  that  Mrs.  Hall 
stood  in  the  middle  of  it  and  looked  around  her  in 
bewilderment.  Actually  a  bright  new  carpet  and  set 
of  furniture,  and  -  here  the  girls  screamed  with  delight 
— a  parlor  organ,  with  a  music  book  open  upon  it. 
Johnnie  came  in  from  the  stable,  where  he  had  spent 
so  much  time  of  late,  bearing  a  nicely-stained  set  of 
book  shelves  for  his  mother,  and  a  carved  bracket  for 
each  of  his  sisters.  "  How  ever  did  you  do  it,  John 
nie?"  asked  Katie. 

"  With  my  bracket  saw  that  I  bought  out  of  the 
money  I  made  with  my  chickens,"  he  answered, 
proudly.  The  chickens  referred  to  were  a  brood 
belonging  to  a  hen  which  Johnnie  had  raised  since  the 
day  it  came  feebly  out  of  its  shell  and  been  deserted 
by  its  stronger  mates  and  hard-hearted  mother. 

"  After  this  you  shall  all  have  chickens  of  your 
own,  and  do  what  you  please  with  the  money,"  said 
the  father. 

It  grew  dark,  and  then  Mr.  Hall  made  anew,  and 
for  him  strange,  proposition :  "  Let's  all  go  over  to 
the  village  to  the  festival,"  he  urged.  "  Come,  we 
might  as  well  make  a  complete  thing  of  it,  as  long  as 
we're  celebratin'.  The  neighbors  are  goin',  and 
there'll  be  fun  likely." 

So  off  they  went;  sure  enough  there  was  "  fun," 


-  147  — 

and  when  at  last  they  settled  themselves  to  sleep,  it 
was  with  the  firm  belief  that  never  before  was  there 
a  happier  day  than  Reuben  Hall's  Christmas. 


MRS.  BRIGHTON'S  BURGLAR. 


THE  clock  struck  three.  As  its  silvery  chimes 
ceased,  a  slight  noise  was  heard  in  the  handsome 
apartment  where  Mrs.  Brighton  lay  sleeping.  The 
light  from  the  hall  lamp  shone  dimly  through  the 
half  open  door  upon  the  bed  and  the  dressing  case 
beside  it,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  room  in  darkness. 

A  stalwart  figure  stood  before  the  mirror,  swiftly 
but  silently  turning  over  the  contents  of  a  drawer. 
It  was  the  opening  of  this  drawer  which  had  dis 
turbed  the  stillness  of  the  night  so  faintly.  Mrs. 
Brighton  opened  her  eyes  just  in  time  to  see  a  dia 
mond  ring  disappear  in  the  burglar's  pocket.  His 
hands  closed  upon  a  dainty  purse. 

"  Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash!"  The  dark 
figure  started.  Whence  came  that  clear  and  quiet 
voice?  He  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  bed,  and 
met  the  gaze  of  a  brown-eyed  woman  who  seemed  as 
unmoved  as  if  she  were  sitting  in  her  parlor  talking 
with  an  ordinary  caller.  The  intruder  stared  dumbly. 

"  Fact !"  continued  the  calm  voice.     "  I'll  prove 

(148) 


it  to  you;  open  it!"  And  now  the  tone  was  com 
manding. 

Mechanically  the  burglar  obeyed.  A  solitary 
nickel  dropped  from  the  purse. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  firm  though  not 
unfriendly  tone,  "  aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself, 
breaking  into  a  person's  house  like  this?" 

The  man  hesitated.  "  Tell  the  truth,"  said  Mrs. 
Brighton,  imperiously. 

"  Yes,  lady,  I  am,"  he  blurted  out  in  an  impul 
sive,  honest  way. 

"  Then  take  off  that  mask." 

The  man  started.     "  No  !"  he  said. 

''Take  it  off!"  insisted  Mrs.  Brighton.  "I  do 
like  to  have  my  own  way.  Oblige  me,  and  you  will 
not  be  sorry  for  it." 

He  pulled  it  off,  and  looked  at  her  with  embar 
rassment  and  shame.  She  saw  a  gaunt  face,  young, 
blue-eyed,  and  yet  hardened  into  the  lineaments  of  a 
confirmed  criminal. 

"Ah!"  she  murmured  to  herself,  "I  thought  it 
quite  likely."  Then,  aloud,  "  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  how  you  chanced  to  take  up  this  hazardous  and 
dishonest  life." 

"  I  haven't  been  in  it  long,  ma'am,"  he  said,  very 
low.  "  I  was  driven  to  it.  I  had  lost  my  job  and 


couldn't  get  anything  to  do — and— and — one  must 
have  something  to  eat,  ma'am." 

"  True !  And  so  you  thought  you  would  help 
yourself  to  the  property  of  other  people.  But  haven't 
you  lost  something  in  the  process  ?" 

"  I  hadn't  anything  to  lose,  ma'am." 

"  You  had  honesty  !  a  clear  conscience  !  appro 
bation  of  the  great  Judge  !  Was  it  worth  while  to 
part  with  them,  even  to  assuage  hunger?" 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  that  way,  ma'am." 

"  I  realize  how  hard  it  has  been  for  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Brighton,  "  as  much  as  anyone  can  realize  it  who 
has  not  experienced  such  privation.  I  know  that  you 
were  desperate  and  tempted.  Your  face  tells  me  that 
crime  does  not  come  to  you  naturally.  Have  you  a 
mother?" 

The  young  man  quivered.  "  She  is  dead,"  he 
replied. 

"  Perhaps  her  spirit  is  hovering  over  you  at  this 
moment.  Would  you  like  to  have  her  see  you  com 
mit  a  robbery?" 

"  My  God,  no  !" 

"  Then,  take  my  advice,  and  try  once  more  to 
lead  an  honest  life.  Act  as  if  your  mother  were  con 
scious  of  every  thought  and  deed — she  may  be,  for 
aught  that  any  of  us  know.  Pray  for  help  and  guid- 


ance.  Don't  be  ashamed  to  pray,  young  man.  Will 
you  try?" 

Tears  rolled  down  the  stranger's  face  as  he 
bowed  his  head — he  could  not  speak. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  little  starter,  and  show  you 
that  T  trust  you.  Take  the  cover  off  that  bon-bon 
box — there — beside  the  cushion,  at  your  right." 
Several  bright  gold  pieces  lay  within.  "  Take  one," 
she  said. 

"  I  can't  take  anything  from  you,  ma'am,"  and 
the  young  fellow  dropped  the  diamond  ring  among 
the  gold  pieces. 

"  Yes,  you  can,  as  a  gift  from  me,  when  I  wish  it 
very  much.  I  set  aside  a  tenth  for  benevolent  work, 
always,  and  I  am  sure  that  you  need  assistance  as 
much  as  any  one  I  know.  Only  make  good  use  of 
it,  and  never,  never  break  into  anybody's  house 
again." 

"  God  bless  you,  ma'am,"  he  said,  as  he  took  out 
one  only  one  -  of  the  shining  coins.  "  I'll  never 
forget  your  kindness,  and  I'll  do  the  best  I  can." 

"  Good-bye,  then,  and  hurry,  for  I  hear  someone 
coming."  He  swung  himself  out  of  the  open  win 
dow,  and  clambered  down  the  trellis,  as  Mrs. 
Brighton's  servant  came  along  the  hall  with  a  light 
in  her  hand,  and  peered  into  her  mistress'  room. 


T52 

"I  thought  I  heard  somebody  talking,  ma'am," 
she  said. 

"Very  likely  it  was  I,  Martha,  babbling  in  my 
sleep.  Too  much  supper,  no  doubt." 

"  All  right,  ma'am,"  replied  Martha,  somewhat 
ambiguously,  and  departed  to  her  couch, 

"  Why  wasn't  I  afraid ?"  mused  Mrs.  Brighton, 
as  the  silence  of  night  once  more  closed  in  around 
her.  "  I  always  supposed  I  would  be  dreadfully 
scared  if  any  one  broke  into  the  house,  yet  I  never 
felt  calmer  in  my  life  than  when  I  discovered  that  I 
was  not  alone.  It  must  have  been  some  occult  force 
that  impressed  me  with  the  fact  that  there  was  no 
danger.  Why,  only  last  evening  I  was  reading  of  a 
terrible  murder  committed  by  a  robber  in  the  house. 
It  would  not  be  wise  to  try  philanthropy  with  that 
kind  of  a  person.  But  this  poor  boy  needs  help.  I 
believe  he  will  come  out  all  right." 

With  a  sigh  of  pity  for  the  vast  hords  of  unfor 
tunates  to  whom  life  is  a  bitter  struggle  in  a  world 
of  plenty,  Mrs.  Brighton  fell  asleep. 

It  was  a  perfect  day,  some  years  later,  and  Mrs. 
Brighton  availed  herself  of  it  to  pay  a  long-deferred 
call  upon  a  friend  living  in  the  suburb  of  Mayville, 
to  which  the  electric  line  which  passed  her  house 
had  lateljr  been  extended.  The  car  stopped  at  her 
signal,  and  the  conductor  stood  ready  to  assist  her 


-  153- 

on  board.  He  gave  her  a  scrutinizing  glance,  one 
that  was  almost  keen  in  its  intensity,  as  he  helped 
her  up  the  steps,  and  she  observed  that  he  was  an 
honest- faced  young  man,  with  a  cheery,  healthy  look 
and  a  pleasant  voice.  One  by  one  the  passengers  left 
the  car,  until  Mrs.  Brighton  was  the  only  one  remain 
ing  inside,  for  her  friend  lived  a  little  beyond  the 
terminus  of  the  road,  in  a  thinly  settled  region. 

Suddenly  the  conductor  walked  up  to  her.  "May 
I  speak  to  you,  madam  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied,  with  some  surprise. 

"  You  do  not  recollect  ever  having  seen  me 
before?" 

She  scanned  him  closely.     "  No,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  the  burglar  who  broke  into  your  house 
four  years  ago." 

"  Indeed,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Brighton.  "I  see  the 
resemblance  now  you  speak  of  it.  The  moustache 
changes  you." 

"  I  am  changed  in  many  ways,  thanks  to  your 
counsel  and  assistance,  madam.  I  hoped  I  might 
tell  you  so,  sometime.  I  took  this  route  because  it 
passed  your  house,  and  have  always  looked  for  you. 
The  money  that  you  gave  me  supported  me  until  I 
found  work.  I  got  into  good  company,  and  finally  I 
got  married — yes,  I  have  a  wife  and  baby  now." 


-154- 

"I  am  so  glad,"  was  all  that  Mrs.  Brighton  could 
say,  but  her  face  shone  with  pleasure. 

"  I  told  my  wife  all  about  it,  and  she  just  reveres 
you,  madam,  as  I  do  myself.  I  wish  you  could  see 
her  and  the  baby." 

"  Bring  them  to  my  house,  sometime,"  said  Mrs. 
Brighton,  as  the  car  stopped. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will,"  replied  the  conductor,  help 
ing  her  to  the  ground  with  the  utmost  care,  and 
touching  his  hat  as  she  turned  away. 

"  Bread  cast  upon  the  waters  does  sometimes 
return,"  thought  Mrs.  Brighton,  with  a  light  heart, 
as  she  hastened  toward  the  home  of  her  friend. 


THROUGH  NIGHT  TO  LIGHT. 


OTHER!  Mother!  Let  me  see  your  face; 
nay,  do  not  grieve  so  ;  I  am  not  afraid  to 
die,  and  God  knows  best ;  there  must  be  some  good 
reason  for  this — something  you  will  know,  though  it 
seems  hard  now.  Dear  mother,  He  will  not  leave  you 
comfortless— He  has  promised  it." 

<(  Oh!  my  child,  how  can  I  look  calmly  on  and 
see  you  pass  out  of  my  life,  stricken  down  on  the  very 
threshold  of  manhood — my  hope  !  my  joy  !  my  one 
incentive  for  existence  !  What  is  there  left  for  me 
when  you  are  gone  ?  I  can  not  face  the  future — it  is 
all  dark.  I  do  not  want  to  grope  my  way  through 
the  gloom.  Oh,  that  I  might  die,  too  !" 

"Lay  your  head  down  by  mine,  mother — so; 
now  kiss  me.  You  always  used  to  be  so  strong  ;  it  is 
not  like  you  to  give  way  so  utterly.  If  I,  your  little 
boy,  whom  you  guided  so  carefully  along  the  crooked 
ways  of  this  world,  do  not  fear  to  enter  that  unknown 
world  above,  should  not  you  be  brave  ?  It  will  be 
but  a  little  while  ere  we  shall  meet  again.  Think  of 
that  joyous  union,  where  we  shall  live  in  perfect  hap- 

(155) 


-156- 

piness,  our  trials  at  an  end !  Think  of  that,  dear 
mother,  and  your  burden  will  grow  lighter. 

"  Henry,  I  will  try  to  be  strong;  your  faith  and 
courage  rebuke  me.  But  if  anything,  everything 
else,  had  been  taken,  and  my  son  had  been  left  me.  I 
can  not  see  yet  why  I  should  be  deprived  of  the 
solace  of  my  declining  years,  or  how  I  can  live  with 
out  you,  my  darling." 

"  There  will  be  a  way  provided,  mother;  I  am 
sure  of  that.  And  I  can  go  easier  now  that  the  ranch 
is  paid  for,  and  I  know  that  you  have  a  good  home." 

"  Ah,  my  son,  how  you  have  worked  to  provide 
your  mother  with  this  home  !  And  I  felt  so  proud  of 
my  manly  boy  and  so  happy  in  the  expectation  of 
spending  the  remainder  of  my  life  in  this  quiet  spot, 
with  grandchildren  clustering  at  my  kees.  Oh  !  what 
is  it,  Henry?" 

"  Only  a  little  twinge  of  pain — it's  over  now  ;  and 
I  was  thinking  of  Annie— dear  Annie.  You'll  tell 
her  now  how  devotedly  I  loved  her,  and  that  I  was 
only  waiting  till  the  load  of  debt  was  off  our  shoul 
ders  before  asking  her  to  come  and  make  us  both 
happy.  She  would  have  been  a  good  daughter  to  you, 
mother ;  but  it  was  not  to  be,  and  I  will  not  rebel.  I 
hope  she'll  be  happy  and  think  of  me  sometimes  when 
she  has  formed  other  ties.  And,  mother,  there's 
something  else  I  want  to  speak  about." 


-157- 

"  What  is  it,  my  child  ?" 

"  It  is  about  you  and  father." 

"  Do  not  rake  up  the  past,  Henry.  He  has 
chosen  his  path,  and  I  have  chosen  mine.  Long  years 
ago  they  diverged  so  utterly  that  no  trace  of  either 
to  the  other  was  visible.  I  do  not  want  to  think  of 
your  father  now ;  I  want  to  think  only  of  you,  my 
poor,  crashed,  dying  boy,  in  the  few  short  hours  that 
I  may  keep  you  with  me." 

"  But  I  can  not  die  happily  with  you  two  unrec 
onciled.  O,  mother,  won't  you  promise  me  some 
thing?  Won't  you  send  father  a  kindly  message? 
Won't  you  take  the  first  step  ?  I  believe  it  would 
all  come  right.  He  did  wrong,  but  he  was  sorry 
afterward,  and  you  would  not  forgive  him.  Do  this 
for  me,  mother.  Write  to  father." 

"  Henry,  it  can  not  be.  I  do  not  know  where  he 
is,  and  if  I  did,  I  could  not  write  to  him.  He  for 
feited  all  claim  upon  his  wife  when  he  let  the  gaming 
table  conquer  his  duty  to  his  family,  and  sacrificed 
his  home,  his  reputation  —everything  a  true  man 
should  live  for — in  order  to  gratify  a  degrading  pas 
sion.  He  did  beg  me  to  take  him  back— so  does  every 
weak  drunkard  and  gambler  in  the  land,  and  their 
vows  are  not  worth  a  moment's  consideration.  When 
their  fault  is  condoned,  they  take  the  first  opportu- 


—  158  — 

nity  to  repeat  it,  and  so  it  goes  on,  to  the  lasting 
misery  of  everyone  connected  with  them." 

"  Do  not  speak  so  bitterly,  mother;  I  like  better 
to  see  your  face  when  it  is  lighted  up  by  the  sweet 
smile  that  has  always  greeted  me  since  I  can  remem 
ber.  True,  the  promises  of  the  erring  are  often 
broken,  for  human  nature  is  weak,  and  habits  once 
formed  link  their  fetters  of  steel  with  relentless 
power  around  their  deluded  victim ;  but  sometimes  a 
man's  eyes  are  so  clearly  opened  to  see  the  error  of 
his  ways  that  no  amount  of  persuasion  can  induce 
him  to  return  to  them  again.  I  believe  it  was  so  with 
father;  in  fact,  I  have  convincing  proof  of  it." 

"  You  are  too  sanguine,  Henry.  What  has 
become  of  your  father  I  know  not ;  but  I  presume  he 
has  sunk  lower  and  lower  down  the  scale  of  degrada 
tion,  if  he  still  lives.  What  do  you  mean  by  '  con 
vincing  proof?'  ' 

"  Mother,  I  know  where  father  is — I  found  out 
yesterday  in  town.  And  he's  a  steady,  industrious 
man — I'm  sure  of  it.  Where's  my  coat— the  breast 
pocket — you'll  find  a  clipping;  read  it." 

"  Mr.  James  H.  Mellen,  our  popular  postmaster, 
reports  that  the  business  of  his  office  during  the 
quarter  ending  September  3Oth  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  quarter  since  he  has  been  in  charge.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  Mr.  Mellen  was  appointed  to  the 


-159- 

postmastership  nearly  eight  years  ago,  not  long  after 
his  arrival  in  Daturah  from  Sonoma,  Cal." 

"  I  saw  that  in  an  Iowa  paper,  mother;  and  you 
know  that  father  went  to  Sonoma.  This  must  be 
father,  and  you  see  he  is  popular  and  occupies  a  good 
position.  Now  will  you  write  to  him,  mother?  " 

"  Can  it  be  possible?  It  seems  likely,  and  yet  I 
fear  there  is  some  mistake.  Would  that  he  were 
again  a  useful  and  respected  member  of  society.  But, 
even  then,  my  son,  I  could  not  write  to  him  after  all 
these  years.  He  would  not  care  to  hear  from  me." 

"  Try  him,  mother." 

"  Perhaps  he  has — another — family." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,  mother." 

"  Divorces  are  easy  to  get  now-a-days,  and  he 
could  say  I  deserted  him." 

"I  don't  think  he  did,  mother;  write  and  see. 
Tell  him  where  you  are;  tell  him  your  boy  is ." 

"  Oh,  Henry,  Henry,  don't,  don't  say  it !  I'll  do  as 
you  wish,  darling,  if  it  will  make  your  mind  easier, 
I'll  forgive  and  forget,  and  he  shall  answer  me  or  not. 
as  he  pleases.  If  some  other  woman  is  making  him 
happy,  I  will  not  repine.  My  son's  last  moments 
shall  not  be  worried  by  obstinacy  of  mine." 

"  That's  my  own  dear  mother  !  And — one  thing 
more — you  love  him  a  little  yet,  do  you  not?" 

"  Henry,  if  he  be  true  and  worthy,  never  would 


-  i6o  — 

wife   be   more  tender  than  I  if  our  paths,  so  long 
estranged,  should  unite  again." 

"  Then  write — write,  now — don't  wait !" 
Without  another  word  the  mother  left  her  son's 
bedside  to  comply  with  his  request.  Henry  Mellen, 
but  twenty-four  hours  ago  in  the  vigorous  health  of 
early  manhood,  lay  helpless  upon  the  couch  from 
which  he  would  never  rise.  Delayed  longer  than 
usual  in  the  neighboring  town  of  Kellyville,  whither 
he  had  gone  with  a  load  of  wood  to  sell,  he  had 
thought  to  gain  time  by  returning  on  a  different  road 
— a  shorter  cut,  but  having  a  steep,  winding  grade,  in 
places  so  narrow,  where  it  had  been  cut  from  the  hill 
side,  that  it  was  impossible  for  teams  to  pass  each 
other,  and  a  slight  swerving  from  the  road  would 
inevitably  precipitate  anyone  from  fifty  to  one  hun 
dred  feet  down  the  bank.  Henry  had  been  over  this 
road  countless  times,  and,  like  all  Californians  accus 
tomed  to  rough  travel,  had  never  apprehended  dan 
ger;  but  darkness  came  on  before  he  reached  the 
grade,  coupled  with  a  thick  fog,  so  that  he  found  it 
difficult  to  distinguish  the  pathway  before  him. 
Regretting  that  he  had  not  taken  the  longer  circuit, 
as  the  fog  settled  around  him,  he  reflected  that  the 
chances  were  nine  to  ten  that  he  would  meet  no  one 
coming  up  the  grade  at  that  hour,  the  horses  knew 
the  road  well,  and  would  take  him  safely  to  the  valley 


-  161  - 

below.  All  went  well  until  the  last  curve  but  one 
was  rounded,  when  the  horses  stumbled  over  an 
obstruction,  the  wagon  tipped  abruptly  to  one  side, 
there  was  a  scramble,  a  frantic  effort  to  keep  the 
track,  and  then  the  wagon,  horses,  and,  alas,  poor 
Henry  Mellen,  went  crashing  down  the  hillside. 

There  they  were  found  some  hours  later,  when 
the  mother,  alarmed  at  the  prolonged  absence  of  her 
son,  had  aroused  the  neighbors  and  a  search  had  been 
instituted.  Mrs.  Mellen's  first  thought  had  been  of 
the  grade,  as  Henry  had  on  several  other  occasions 
laughed  at  her  fears  and  taken  the  shorter  road,  and 
thither  the  steps  of  the  men  were  directed. 

They  soon  discovered  that  a  landslide  had  taken 
place,  partially  blocking  the  road,  and  their  worst 
anticipations  were  realized  by  the  evidences  of  the 
accident  that  had  taken  place. 

One  horse  was  killed  and  the  other  so  badly  hurt 
that  he  was  speedily  put  out  of  his  misery.  Henry 
was  found  to  have  received  fatal  spinal  injuries.  He 
suffered  little,  but  his  hours  were  numbered.  It  was 
after  the  doctor  had  candidly  stated  the  facts  of  the 
case  that  the  foregoing  conversation  between  mother 
and  son  took  place. 

The  letter  was  written.  Mrs.  Mellen  enclosed 
the  newspaper  clipping,  and  said  that  if  the  post 
master  referred  to  was  her  husband  of  years  ago,  she 


—  162  — 

congratulated  him  on  his  honorable  career,  which  had 
gained  him  the  esteem  of  his  townspeople,  and  sin 
cerely  regretted  the  harsh  words  which  would  have 
driven  a  weaker  man  to  moral  destruction.  Their  boy 
was  dying,  and  by  his  bedside  she  implored  his  for 
giveness  for  all  .her  shortcomings  as  she  freely  for 
gave  the  wrongdoing  which  had  been  the  cause  of 
their  separation. 

Henry  listened  to  the  letter,  a  smile  of  content 
creeping  over  his  white  face,  and  his  last  words  were 
full  of  confidence  that  happiness  was  yet  in  store  for 
his  estranged  parents. 

It  was  early  in  December  when  he  died.  One 
perfect  day  followed  another  with  a  prodigality  un 
known  in  the  East.  The  occasional  gentle  showers 
revivified  the  earth  until  it  put  on  a  garb  of  freshest 
verdure.  Dainty  blossoms  of  every  hue  sprang  up  on 
the  broad  plains,  all  over  the  hills,  in  every  nook  and 
corner.  The  birds  caroled  their  sweetest  lays  like 
those  of  spring  time— for  was  not  this  the  California 
spring? 

Christmas  day  dawned — the  beautiful  Christmas 
so  unlike  that  of  which  the  poets  sing  ;  and  in  the 
home  of  Henry  Mellen's  mother  there  was  much  sad 
ness  and  little  rejoicing.  The  weary  shoulders  were 
not  quite  fitted  to  the  burden  yet,  but  they  were  mak 
ing  a  brave  eftort  to  shape  themselves,  and  every  day 


-i63- 

the  sad  lips  murmured :  '*  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be 
done." 

Who  is  this  walking  so  swiftly  up  the  path  and 
knocking  so  imperatively  upon  the  door?  A  tall  fig 
ure,  a  bearded  face,  the  hair  thickly  streaked  with 
gray,  that  sends  a  strange  thrill  over  the  breathless 
watcher.  She  can  scarcely  throw  open  the  door  ;  but 
she  is  in  no  danger  of  falling,  for  strong  arms  support 
her,  warm  kisses  are  pressed  upon  lips  and  brow,  a 
fond  voice  whispers,  "  My  wife  !  My  precious  wife 
at  last!" 

"  Peace  on  earth !  good  will  to  men  !  "  Did 
angels  ever  bequeath  to  mortals  a  sweeter  motto  ?  Not 
alone  for  remembrance  on  the  blessed  anniversary 
of  our  Saviour's  birth,  but  for  constant  use  amid  the 
trials  and  perplexities  of  every-day  life. 

"  I  tried  to  find  you,"  said  Mr.  Mellen,  "  after  I 
was  certain  that  the  old  temptation  had  no  power  over 
me ;  but  you  had  vanished,  leaving  no  trace  of  your 
whereabouts.  Then  I  went  East,  feeling  that  I  had 
but  one  thing  to  live  for,  and  that  was  to  retrieve  my 
lost  reputation.  I  have  succeeded,  and  by  the  mem 
ory  of  that  dear  son  who  so  nobly  strove  to  fill  the 
place  I  left  vacant,  I  solemnly  vow  that  nothing  shall 
henceforth  be  left  undone  that  will  in  any  degree 
atone  for  the  suffering  I  have  caused  you.  Be  com 
forted,  dear  wife,  you  are  not  left  alone." 


—  164  — 

"  O  blessed  day,  which  gives  the  eternal  lie 

To  self  and  sense,  and  all  the  brute  within  ! 

Oh  !  come  to  us  amid  this  war  of  life  ; 

To  hall  and  hovel,  come ;  to  all  who  toil 

In  senate,  shop  or  study,  and  to  those 

Who,  sundered  by  the  wastes  of  half  a  world, 

Ill-warmed  and  sorely  tempted,  ever  face 

Nature's  brute  powers,  and  men  unmanned  to  brutes, 

Come  to  them,  blest  and  blessing,  Christmas  day. 

Tell  them  once  more  the  tale  of  Bethlehem, 

The  kneeling  shepherds  and  the  Babe  divine, 

And  keep  them  men  indeed,  fair  Christmas  Day." 


THAT  UGLY  MAN. 


came  such  a  beautiful  woman  to  marry 
that  ugly  man,"  exclaimed  a  stranger  in  the 
city,  as  the  wedding  party  came  from  the  church. 

"  Because  she  knows  what  real  beauty  is,"  said  a 
gentle  faced  old  lady  as  she  passed. 

I  knew  the  story.  I  knew  Salome  Harden  when 
she  married  at  1 8  a  man  who  had  more  than  his  share 
of  personal  graces,  and  I  knew  what  a  life  she  led  for 
the  next  fifteen  years— not  necessarily  because  she 
had  married  a  handsome  man,  but  because  in  his  case 
beauty  was  only  "  skin  deep."  She  had  an  inkling  of 
the  fact  once  when,  for  a  trifling  fault,  he  unmerci 
fully  lashed  the  horse  that  he  was  driving.  It  jarred 
upon  her  seriously,  but  could  she  break  an  engage 
ment  for  a  little  thing  like  that  ?  She  had  yet  to  learn 
that  a  cruel,  unreasonable  temper  can  destroy  the 
happiness  of  a  home.  She  also  discovered  that  her 
handsome  husband  was  too  much  engrossed  with 
himself  to  take  any  interest  in  her  pursuits.  On  her 
experience  I  will  not  dwell.  The  martyrdom  of  a 

(165) 


-  i66    - 

neglected,  ill-treated  wife  is  far  more  common  than 
the  world  realizes. 

After  Salome  became  a  widow,  she  had  no  lack 
of  admirers.  A  few  had  some  attraction  for  her  at 
first,  then  a  chance  act  or  word  would  dispel  her  illu 
sion.  Warned  by  the  past,  she  took  heed  when  Mr. 
Prince  sneered  at  a  ragged  old  woman,  and  Mr.  Means 
kicked  an  injured  dog  which  had  crawled  to  his  feet, 
and  Mr.  Sterne  could  not  see  the  sense  of  fussing  over 
flowers  or  reading  poetry,  and  Mr.  Pomposity  thought 
that  women  were  getting  so  that  they  knew  too  much, 
and  Mr.  Gayfair  occassionally  took  too  much  wine. 

One  Sunday  morning,  as  she  took  her  seat  in 
church,  she  caught  sight  of  the  ugliest  little  man,  pos 
itively  the  very  ugliest,  she  thought,  that  she  had  ever 
set  eyes  on.  He  was  short,  and  red  faced  and  bald- 
headed,  and  had  a  turned-up  nose,  and  a  big  mouth 
and  scraggly  red  whiskers.  He  sat  in  the  seat  directly 
behind  her,  and  her  first  feeling  was  one  of  thankful 
ness  that  he  did  not  sit  in  front  of  her.  By  and  bye 
she  noticed  that  he  joined  in  the  hymns  with  a  hearty 
bass  voice,  and  he  actually  said  the  Lord's  prayer  right 
out  loud  at  the  proper  time  in  the  service.  Salome 
had  not  been  accustomed  to  hearing  a  man  pray.  She 
respected  the  ugly  creature  from  that  time  forth. 

Sunday  after  Sunday  passed ;  she  was  a  constant 
church-goer  and  so  was  he.  Then  he  was  introduced 


-  i67  - 

to  her  at  "  a  social,"  and  real  acquaintance  began. 
She  found  that  he  was  even  more  of  a  reader  than  her 
self,  that  his  sympathies  were  quick,  his  perceptions 
delicate.  She  liked  the  manly  ring  in  his  voice  and 
the  strong  grasp  of  his  hand.  His  almost  diffident 
courtesy  was  a  change  from  the  self-assured  attentions 
of  the  other  gentlemen.  She  was  sure  that  he  knew 
how  ugly  he  was  and  that  his  unattractive  appear 
ance  deprived  him  of  much  of  life's  pleasure.  He 
must  be  forty,  yet  had  never  been  married. 

"  Young  girls  are  so  foolish,"  she  thought,  recall 
ing  how  she,  as  well  as  others,  had  reserved  all  her 
smiles  for  the  best-looking  young  men,  and  more 
than  once  had  snubbed  some  freckle-faced  youth 
without  regard  for  his  good  qualities. 

It  was  rather  a  lively  winter  among  the  church 
people,  and  Salome  often  met  Mr.  Hartwell.  He 
seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  her  society,  but 
always  maintained  a  certain  reserve.  Salome  dis 
cerned  that  the  nature  of  this  plain  little  man  was 
not  one  to  be  fathomed  readily. 

One  evening  he  escorted  her  home  from  a  meet 
ing  of  the  literary  club.  Almost  at  her  doorstep  she 
slipped  on  a  banana  peel,  turned  her  ankle,  and  for 
an  instant  lost  consciousness  with  the  pain.  What 
woman  could  faint  long  within  a  pair  oi  embracing 
arms,  with  a  warm  kiss  clinging  to  her  lips  ?  Not 


—  1 68     - 

Salome  Harden  at  any  rate.  Her  astonishment 
brought  her  to  her  senses,  and  in  another  moment 
she  was  standing  very  straight  and  Mr.  Hartwell  was 
stammering  an  apology. 

"You  were  falling — I  caught  you —and — and  I 
lost  my  self-control.  Can  you  forgive  me?"  With 
out  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  went  on  as  if  the  flood 
gates  were  opened.  He  told  her  how  hopelessly  he 
had  loved  her,  how  well  he  knew  that  no  woman 
could  ever  marry  him  ;  that  he  never  meant  to  show 
his  affection,  but  was  grateful  for  her  friendship. 

Something  shone  in  his  face  that  was  better  than 
beauty  of  features.  Salome  wondered  how  she  could 
ever  have  looked  with  pity  upon  this  man. 

"  Will  you  come  in  a  minute?  "  she  asked. 

Uncertain  of  her  mood,  he  followed  her  up  the 
steps. 

She  turned  as  they  passed  through  the  parlor 
door. 

"  You  said  that  no  woman  could  ever  marry  you, 
Mr.  Hartwell  You  must  take  that  back,  for — I  can. 
I  want  to  be  happy,"  and  she  laid  her  arms  about  his 
ueck. 

That  kiss  had  made  things  clear.  Somehow  it 
was  not  quite  like  any  other  kiss  she  had  ever 
received,  and  Salome  felt  that  it  was  what  she  had 
been  wanting  all  her  life.  She  forgot  all  about  her 


aching  ankle.  Mr.  Hartwell's  emotions  need  not  be 
described,  but  I  will  say  this :  If  there  is  a  blissful 
wedded  couple  in  the  universe,  "  that  ugly  man  "  and 
his  beautiful  Salome  are  the  identical  pair. 


THE  AWAKENING. 


RETTA  RICHARDSON  turned  from  the  one 
window  of  her  little  sitting  room  with  a  sigh. 
It  was  not  an  entrancing  or  even  interesting  scene 
that  she  had  viewed  as  she  stood  between  the  simple 
muslin  curtains  that  were  caught  back  on  each  side 
by  an  artistically  knotted  band  of  broad  blue  ribbon. 
A  dusty,  cobbly  street,  lined  with  small,  low, 
unpainted  frame  houses,  guiltless  of  the  slightest 
attempt  toward  ornament — structures  appearing  but 
half  finished  to  one  accustomed  to  eastern  architec 
ture.  Beyond  the  street,  more  dirt,  more  cobble 
stones,  more  L,iliputian  houses,  then  along,  wide 
stretch  of  barren  mesa,  extending  far  out  to  the  hori 
zon  line,  and  broken  by  a  rugged  mountain  range 
that  rose  precipitously  from  the  surface  of  the  plain, 
some  ten  miles  away.  Ten  miles,  although  it  did  not 
look  half  the  distance,  in  the  clear,  rarefied  atmos 
phere  of  southern  Arizona ;  and  many  more  miies  the 
eye  scanned  in  vain  for  a  glimpse  of  beauty, — for  one 
tree  to  relieve  the  monotony,  for  a  tiny  rivulet  or  a 

sparkling    lake.       Bare,    dust-colored   mesa,   distant 

(170) 


mountains,  and  deep  blue  sky  over  all  these,  formed 
the  panorama. 

But  this  unprepossessing  exterior  was  not  the 
cause  of  Retta's  sigh,  although  she  had  been  thinking 
of  the  dear  old  home  in  New  England, — of  the  ver 
dant  country  town  where  she  was  born  and  bred,  and 
of  the  roomy,  comfortable  dwelling  of  her  youthful 
days,  all  so  great  a  contrast  to  her  present  surround 
ings. 

The  little  room  in  which  she  stood,  though 
cheaply  furnished,  was  a  cosy  apartment,  with  its 
tasteful  arrangement  and  pretty  devices.  The  sigh 
issued  again  from  her  lips  as  she  looked  toward  a 
lounge  at  one  side,  whereon  the  greatest  ornament  of 
all  reclined, — a  handsome  man, — her  husband,— her 
own.  Tall  and  athletic  in  figure,  nobly  modeled  in 
feature,  his  wavy  brown  locks  carelessly  lying  upon 
the  neatly  embroidered  pillow,  his  large  dark  eyes 
closed  in  slumber.  A  picture  to  fill  a  fond  wife's 
heart  with  joyous  pride,  yet  tears  gathered  in  Retta's 
eyes  as  she  gazed,  and  she  bit  her  lips  in  an  attempt 
to  control  her  emotion. 

A  loud,  stentorous  breathing  came  from  under 
the  heavy  moustache,  unlike  the  respiration  of  nat 
ural  slumber.  Retta's  cherished  husband  was  drunk, 
and  not  for  the  first  time. 

She  could  bear  separation  from  the  loved  rela- 


—  172- 

tions,  banishment  from  congenial  scenes,  and  the 
privations  and  annoyances  of  frontier  life;  but  this 
crowning  grievance  was  almost  more  than  she  could 
endure. 

She  had,  at  first,  hopefully  imagined  that  she 
could  influence  Myron  to  overcome  the  temptation ; 
but  she  had  tried  every  means  in  her  power  and  they 
had  proved  of  no  avail.  He  had  started  out  in  busi 
ness  in  a  small  way,  hoping  to  prosper  with  the 
growth  of  the  bustling  little  town,  and  for  a  time  had 
done  well.  But  he  had  succumbed  to  the  degenerat 
ing  influences  that  are  so  plentiful  in  newly  settled 
communities,  far  from  the  haunts  of  a  higher  state 
of  civilization,  and  now  both  he  and  the  business 
seemed  fairly  on  the  road  to  ruin.  No  wonder  that 
Retta's  tender,  lonely  heart  contracted  with  anguish, 
and  her  courage  well-nigh  failed  her. 

The  next  morning,  when  Myron  had  recovered 
from  the  dissipation  of  the  previous  day,  a  day  set 
aside  by  the  rougher  elements  of  the  population  for 
excessive  indulgence,— the  holy  Sabbath — Retta  tried 
once  more  to  reason  with  him.  Not  argumentatively, 
not  harshly;  but  gently,  lovingly,  fervently.  Once 
Myron  had  been  plunged  into  depths  of  shame  and 
remorse  at  the  consciousness  that  he  had  allowed 
liquor  to  master  him, — had  sworn  it  should  never 
happen  again,  that  she  need  not  worry,  everything 


—  173  — 

would  be  all  right  in  the  future,  as  men  are  sure  to 
swear  who  falsely  gauge  their  own  strength  and  the 
enthralling  power  of  drink.  All  that  was  past  now, 
as  it  inevitably  becomes  in  the  case  of  a  pampered 
appetite  Myron  was  moody  and  irritable  now,  after 
a  debauch,  and  impatient  of  any  interference  from 
his  wife. 

He  swallowed  his  strong  coffee  this  morning  with 
a  clouded  brow,  scarcely  vouching  a  word  to  Retta, 
who  sat  opposite  him,  the  same  pretty,  blue-eyed  lit 
tle  woman  who  had  once  captivated  his  heart,  and 
who  had  been  cherished  as  the  apple  of  his  eye  before 
the  demon  drink  became  her  rival. 

"You'll  be  home  to  dinner  at  five,  won't  you, 
Myron?"  pleaded  Retta,  knowing  it  was  useless  to 
ask  him  to  come  to  lunch,  for  it  had  been  some  months 
now  since  he  had  asserted  that  the  pressure  of  his 
business  required  him  to  take  lunch  at  a  restaurant 
near  the  store. 

•'  I  suppose  so,"  Myron  replied,  rather  ungraci 
ously. 

"  And  need  you  go  back,  dear?  " 

Retta  was  leaning  over  her  husband's  chair  now, 
her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Stay  at  home  with  me  tonight,  and  let  us  read 
and  talk  together  as  we  used." 

•'  Bosh  !  "  exclaimed  Myron.     "  That   would   be 


dull  work.  How  often  must  I  tell  you,  Retta,  that  a 
man  can't  spend  all  his  days  courting?  That  time  is 
past  and  gone  for  us,  and  it  is  very  unreasonable  of 
you  to  be  so  exacting.  I've  something  else  to  do 
beside  moping  around  in  the  house." 

How  different  his  tones  were  from  the  seductive 
eloquence  of  that  voice  not  so  many  years  ago  !  And 
this  plea  of  urgent  business,  which  had  so  often  been 
advanced  as  an  excuse  for  remaining  away  until  the 
evening  was  far  spent,  if  not  entirely  gone.  Retta  had 
worried,  at  first,  about  such  overwork,  but  had  finally 
made  the  discovery  that  these  evenings  were  mostly 
spent  in  some  one  of  the  numerous  attractively  fur 
nished  gambling  saloons. 

"  Oh,  now,  dear,  don't  talk  that  way.  It  pains 
me  to  hear  you  say  that  your  wife  is  dull  company. 
You  used  not  to  think  so." 

"  Hang  it  all,  there  you  go  again  !  '  You  used  not ' 
this,  and  '  you  used  not '  that !  Do  you  suppose  the 
world,  and  everything  on  it,  is  going  to  hang  station 
ary  ?  I  '  used  not '  to  be  tied  to  a  woman's  apron 
string,  and  I  don't  propose  to  be  now." 

Oh,  favorite  expression  of  a  tyrannical  man  ! 
How  many  times  a  loving  wife's  heart  has  been  wrung 
by  it. 

Myron  rose  from  the  table,  clapped  his  hat  upon 
his  head,  and  strode  into  the  street  without  a  back- 


ward  glance  or  a  word  of  farewell.  It  was  not  much 
past  five  when  he  returned,  and  he  was  sober. 

But  he  was  off  again  in  an  hour,  despite  his  wife's 
persuasions,  and  she  saw  no  more  of  him  until  nearly 
midnight,  when  he  was  not  so  sober, 

It  was  extremely  hot  weather, — one  scorching, 
cloudless  day  followed  another,  with  the  mercury  over 
100  deg.  in  the  shade,— and  Retta,  never  very  strong, 
was  much  reduced  by  the  excessive  heat,  combined 
with  her  ever-present  anxiety.  Day  by  day,  she  grew 
whiter  and  thinner,  until  even  Myron  observed  her 
wan  appearance,  and  betrayed  some  feeling  in  regard 
to  it. 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  change,  Retta,"  he  declar 
ed.  "  This  infernally  hot  weather  is  too  much  for 
you, — it  is  rather  rough  on  me  sometimes, — and  you 
ought  to  go  into  the  mountains.  There  are  parties 
going  every  little  while,  and  you  'd  better  join  one  of 
them." 

The  doctor  said  so,  too,  and  added  that  she  must 
go  somewhere,  or  she  would  be  down  entirely.  His 
positive  tones  admitted  of  no  increduality,  and  Retta, 
who  shrank  from  the  thought  of  an  illness  in  that  in 
auspicious  climate,  and  felt  that,  for  Myron's  sake, 
she  must  keep  up,  at  last  consented  to  take  a  trip  to 
the  Chiricahuas.  She  would  have  gone  readily  and 
with  pleasure  if  Myron  could  have  accompanied  her ; 


_I76- 

but  she  felt  very  uneasy  about  leaving  him  perfectly 
free  to  follow  the  bent  of  his  inclinations,  and  was 
sorely  afraid  that  he  would  take  advantage  of  her  ab 
sence  in  a  way  that  would  be  detrimental  to  him. 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  be  good,"  she  entreat 
ed,  as  she  took  leave  of  him.  •'  Do  not  forget  that 
you  are  a  gentleman,  and  that  your  business  prospects 
and  our  future  happiness  depend  upon  your  conduct. 
Oh,  be  good  and  true,  darling." 

Her  voice  broke  into  a  sob,  as  she  clung  to  him. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  and  he  kissed  her  lightly.  "  What 
a  pucker  about  nothing  !  One  would  think  I  was  in 
danger  of  an  arrant  disgrace,  and  that  you  were  about 
to  take  your  departure  for  Borrioboola  Gha,  or  some 
other  place  at  the  antipodes,  instead  of  for  a  canon  in 
the  Chiricahuas,  but  sixty  miles  away.  Don't  fret 
about  me,  Retta,  but  devote  yourself  to  getting  well, 
among  the  trees  and  flowers  and  singing  birds.  There 
comes  the  carriage.  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  as 
dusky  as  a  senorita  in  a  month  from  now.  Enjoy 
yourself  all  you  can.  Good-by." 

He  parted  from  her  more  like  his  old  self  than 
usual,  but  Retta's  heart  was  heavy  as  she  rode  away 
in  the  bright  sunlight. 

Myron  went  back  to  the  store  rejoicing  that  he 
was  free  from  surveillance  for  a  whole  month.  He 
didn't  intend  to  do  anything  very  much  out  of  the 


—  177  — 

way,  but  Retta  was  too  straight-faced.  If  she  had  her 
way  she  wouldn't  allow  a  man  any  liberties  at  all. 
Things  were  different  in  mining-camps  from  what 
they  were  in  puritanical  New  England.  A  man  could 
enjoy  a  game  of  faro  without  anything  being  thought 
of  it,  and  it  would  be  quite  out  of  the  ordinary  course 
to  refuse  a  glass  of  liquor.  So  Myron  Richardson 
followed  the  advice  he  had  given  his  wife,  and  "enjoyed 
himself. "  If  he  lost  heavily  at  his  favorite  game,  there 
was  no  one  to  reproach  him,  and  if  he  sometimes  took 
"  a  glass  too  much,"  there  were  no  sorrowful  eyes  to 
see  it.  Some  few  friends,  who  were  proof  against  the 
temptations  of  border  life,  remarked  that  it  was  a  pity 
that  such  a  fine  man  as  Myron  Richardson  should  be 
going  down  hill,  and  it  was  hard  lines  for  that  lady 
like  little  wife  of  his.  But  Myron  felt  no  twinges  of 
conscience.  He  grew  better  satisfied  with  himself  all 
the  time.  And  now  it  was  about  time  for  his  wife  to 
return.  In  fact,  she  was  liable  to  arrive  in  the  camp 
any  day.  He  had  no  means  of  hearing  directly  from 
her,  but  he  knew  that  the  party  whom  she  had  accom 
panied  proposed  to  return  about  this  time. 

One  quiet  Sunday  morning, — come  to  think  of 
it,  it  was  not  so  very  quiet,  either,  for  Sunday  is  not 
observed  as  punctiliously  in  mining  camps^as  it  is  in 
the  East,  and  the  stamp  mills  were  pounding  away 
as  usual  on  the  daily  supply  of  ore, — but  one  peace- 


-I78- 

fill  Sunday  morning,  the  residents  of  Bonanza  were 
suddenly  thrown  into  a  state  of  the  wildest  com 
motion.  Rumors  of  an  Apache  outbreak  at  the  San- 
Carlos  reservation  had  been  afloat  for  a  day  or  two, 
but  had  not  been  generally  credited,  similar  sensa 
tional  reports  having  proved  utterly  without  founda 
tion  several  times  heretofore.  But  when  two  excited, 
roughly-dressed  men  galloped  into  town,  on  horses 
that  were  literally  covered  with  foam,  and  spread  the 
tidings  that  a  party  of  four  woodchoppers  in  the 
Dragon  Mountains  had  been  found  murdered  by  a 
band  of  fleeing  Indians,  en  route  to  Sonoro,  who  had 
stolen  large  numbers  of  horses,  mules  and  cattle,  and 
had  marked  their  trail  from  the  reservation  with  the 
blood  of  at  least  forty  white  men,  women  and  chil 
dren  at  various  points,  the  outbreak  was  recognized 
as  a  terrible  fact.  The  bearers  of  the  dread  intelli 
gence  had  feared  for  their  lives  in  crossing  the  mesa 
between  the  Dragons  and  Bonanza,  but  had  luckily 
caught  only  a  distant  view  of  the  motley  band  of 
savages.  The  Indians  were  apparently  making  for 
the  lower  end  of  the  Chiricahuas,  and  woe  betide  any 
white  people  who  might  be  crossing  the  Sulphur- 
Spring  Valley,  between  that  range  and  the  Dragons, 
unconscious  of  the  proximity  of  the  red  foe. 

At  once  the  town  was  aroused.     The  whistles  of 
the  steam  hoisting  works  sounded  a  shrill  alarm,  fast 


-  179- 

and  furious,  which  thronged  the  streets  with  excited, 
curious  people.  Stern-faced  men  hastily  saddled  their 
horses,  buckled  on  their  cartridge  belts  and  a  brace 
of  revolvers,  and,  taking  their  rifles  before  them, 
galloped  up  and  down  the  streets,  recruiting  a  force 
to  go  in  pursuit  of  the  renegades,  and  to  notify  the 
surrounding  settlers  of  their  danger.  No  doubt 
the  soldiers  were  not  very  far  distant,  but 
perhaps  a  volunteer  company  from  Bonanza 
could  cut  off  the  retreat  of  the  Indians  into  Mexican 
territory.  The  bodies  of  their  victims  must  be  brought 
into  town  also,  and  decently  buried  All  was  bustle 
and  prompt  action.  Within  an  hour  after  the  news 
was  received,  fifty  mounted  men  rode  out  in  the  direc 
tion  indicated  as  taken  by  the  savages,  and  twenty 
more  took  a  circuit  among  the  ranches,  and  other 
exposed  places,  to  warn  the  people  of  the  danger  of 
their  situation. 

Myron  Richardson's  first  thought  was  of  Retta. 
She  was  liable  to  be  on  the  road  from  the  Chiricahuas, 
and  directly  in  the  path  of  the  hostiles.  Good  God  ! 
she  might  be  killed,  or  worse  yet,  be  taken  into  a  ter 
rible  captivity !  And  he  could  do  nothing  to  avert 
the  danger.  Even  now,  the  horrible  deed  might  be 
committed  !  How  was  he  to  endure  such  suspense  ? 
Why  had  he  allowed  her  to  go  into  such  a  lonely 
country  without  him  ?  A  country,  too,  supporting  in 


-  i8o- 

its  midst  that  constant  menace  of  an  Apache  reserva 
tion.  Now  that  Retta's  life  was  in  jeopardy,  it  seemed 
very  precious  to  the  husband  who  had  manifested  so 
much  indifference  for  months  past.  He  was  almost 
unmanned  at  the  thought  that  she  might  be  snatched 
from  him,  in  this  cruelest  of  ways.  Something  very 
like  a  prayer  rose  from  his  heart  to  heaven,  as  he 
wandered  aimlessly  through  the  streets,  now  more 
than  usually  lively,  heeding  no  familiar  faces,  intent 
only  on  the  all-absorbing  question  that  none  could 
answer — was  Retta  safe  ?  He  had  not  long  to  wait 
for  news  of  her. 

Ere  the  sun  had  commenced  its  downward  jour 
ney  toward  the  west,  another  flying  horseman  reached 
the  camp,  and  the  tidings  he  brought  were  of  a  nature 
to  fill  strong  men's  eyes  with  tears,  and  their  hearts 
with  horror  unutterable. 

Some  men  had  arrived  at  Jones'  ranch  just  before 
his  departure,  so  the  messenger  said,  who  reported 
that  a  train  of  freight  wagons  had  been  "  taken  in  " 
by  the  Indians,  in  the  Sulphur-Spring  Valley,  the 
drivers  (Mexicans)  killed,  and  the  mules  stolen.  A 
party  of  Bonanza  people,  who  had  been  camping  in 
the  Chiricahaus  and  were  on  their  way  home,  had  also 
been  attacked.  Not  one  had  escaped.  All  lay  cold 
in  death,  brutally  hacked  and  mutilated  by  the  blood 
thirsty  Apaches.  The  description  of  the  bodies  found 


tallied  exactly  with  that  of  the  Wbitcomb  party,  of 
which  Mrs.  Richardson  was  a  member. 

This  fresh  and  trebly  sickening  horror  spread 
like  wildfire  through  the  streets,  and  was  not  long 
in  reaching  Myron  Richardson.  Although  he 
had  thought  of  nothing  else  since  he  had  heard 
that  the  Apaches  were  in  the  vicinity,  he  was 
completely  staggered  by  the  awful  confirmation  of 
his  fears.  A  great  wave  of  misery  rolled  over 
him  with  the  knowledge,  for  there  could  be  little 
doubt  of  it,  that  poor  Retta  lay  lifeless  and  disfigured, 
exposed  to  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun,  in  Sulphur- 
Spring  Valley.  Mechanically,  with  set  lips  and  star 
ing  eyes,  he  sought  his  home,  oblivious  of  the  excla 
mations  of  pity  from  his  acquaintances  that  followed 
the  sight  of  his  agonized  countenance.  He  entered 
the  humble  home  which  Retta  had  made  so  attractive, 
turned  the  key  in  the  door,  and  threw  himself  down 
by  the  table,  dropping  his  head  upon  his  arms,  to 
think  it  out.  Retta  was  no  more  !  never  again  would 
he  behold  the  sweet  face  that  had  smiled  for  him  since 
that  blessed  day  six  years  ago  when  his  eyes  had  first 
rested  upon  it.  Never  again  would  he  hear  her  gen 
tle  voice  assuring  him  of  her  tender  love,  or — O 
wretched  thought ! — entreating  him  to  give  up  his 
unsteady  habits,  and  be  to  her  the  loving,  considerate 
husband  of  yore.  And  now  a  great  storm  of  remorse- 


—  182  — 

ful  anguish  shook  Myron's  frame  from  head  to  foot. 
Was  it  not  hard  enough  to  lose  his  precious  wife,  in 
this  diabolical  manner,  without  suffering  the  woe  of 
unavailing  regret  for  the  past,  brought  about  entirely 
by  his  own  selfishness  and  disregard  of  principles  ? 

The  unhappy  man  groaned  in  agony  of  spirit,  and 
lay  motionless,  fighting  with  his  grief,  while  the  day 
wore  on,  and  night  drew  near.  All  the  torturing 
thoughts  that  filled  his  brain,  only  he  and  his  Maker 
knew. 

We  can  imagine  them  to  some  extent,  but  only 
those  who  have  passed  through  such  an  ordeal  can 
fully  realize  the  pain  of  a  conscience-stricken 
mourner. 

Hours  had  passed  when  Myron  started  up  from 
his  chair,  invincible  determination  written  upon 
every  lineament,  and,  raising  his  hand  on  high,  he 
exclaimed, — 

"  I  will  throw  off  the  shackles.  As  God  hears 
me,  I  will  be  a  different  man.  I  cannot  bring  my 
darling  back,  I  cannot  live  my  life  over  and  fulfill 
the  vows  I  made  her  at  the  alter, — O  God  would  that 
I  could, — but  I  can  do  what  she  would  wish  me  to 
do  if  she  could  speak  to  me.  I  will  never  touch 
liquor  or  dice  again,  no,  never,  never,  never!" 

Myron  trembled  with  agitation,  cold  beads  of 
perspiration  stood  upon  his  brow,  and  tears  filled  his 


-i83- 

eyes,  as  he  continued,  "  I  see  it  all  now,— my  dam 
nable  conduct.  With  the  dearest,  truest  wife  in  the 
world,  I  have  been  blind  to  her  happiness  and  my 
own  interests.  I  have  caused  her  untold  suffering, 
—I  know  it, — and  God  is  just  in  taking  away  from 
me  a  blessing  that  I  did  not  appreciate.  Oh,  idiot 
that  I  have  been  !" 

Pacing  nervously  to  and  fro,  Myron  thought  of 
the  lonely,  loveless  life  before  him.  He  was  firm  in 
his  resolve  to  break  loose  from  all  degrading  associa 
tions,  but  it  occurred  to  him  that,  if  he  registered 
his  solemn  vow  on  paper,  it  would  be  an  ever-present 
reminder  of  the  pledge. 

"  I  will  put  it  down  in  black  and  white,"  he  said, 
"  and  it  shall  never  leave  my  body." 

So  he  drew  out  a  little  drawer  in  the  table,  where 
in  his  wife  had  kept  her  writing  materials,  and  rum 
maged  among  its  contents  for  a  suitable  paper.  The 
sight  of  letters  inscribed  with  her  dear  name,  and  a 
glimpse  now  and  then  of  her  familiar  handwriting, 
almost  overpowered  him.  He  caught  sight  of  the 
wished-for  paper,  and  drew  it  out  from  beneath  a  pile 
of  envelopes.  Another  sheet  came  with  it, — a  jagged, 
torn  leaf,  apparently  from  an  account  book  or  diary, 
— and  it  was  covered  with  Retta's  dainty  chirographyi 
Instinctively  he  began  to  read.  Soon  he  flushed  and 
choked,  and,  when  he  had  finished,  the  leaf  fell  from 


-  184  - 

his  nerveless  hand,  his  head  dropped,  and  he  groaned. 
"  Oh,  wretched  man  that  I  am  !  May  God  forgive  me 
for  my  cruelty  to  that  sainted  woman." 

This  is  what  he  read  : 

"  I  must  tell  my  grief  to  some  one  or  something. 
This  continual  repression  is  killing  me.  So  let  me 
pour  my  trouble  out  on  the  bosom  of  my  diary,  since 
I  can  confide  it  to  no  buman  breast.  How  can  Hook 
calmly  on  and  see  my  darling  husband  going  to  ruin  ? 
How  can  I  bear  his  indifference,  his  hard  words,  his 
utter  disregard  of  my  counsel  ?  O  Myron,  Myron,  if 
you  but  knew  that  a  wife's  affection  is  beyond  all  price! 
If  you  but  realized  your  precarious  condition,  and  the 
duty  you  owe  to  yourself,  to  me,  and  to  your  God  ! 
Night  and  day  I  pray  for  thee,  and  night  and  day  my 
heart  aches,  oh,  so  bitterly.  I  am  alone,  alone  in  this 
desolate  country,  for  the  staff  on  which  I  leaned  has 
failed  me.  My  father  in  heaven,  help  me  to  endure." 

It  was  like  a  message  from  the  dead  to  Myron, 
and  it  filled  his  heart  with  anguish.  The  room  grew 
dusk,  but  he  did  not  move.  A  man  could  not  live  in 
such  misery,  he  dully  thought. 

He  did  not  hear  some  one  try  the  door,  which 
was  still  locked,  nor  did  he  notice  the  light  steps  that 
passed  around  the  side  of  the  house  to  the  kitchen  en 
trance. 

"Myron,"  a  soft  voice  spoke,  "  Myron,  are  you 
here?" 

The  man  started  as  if  struck  by  an  electric  shock, 


-i85- 

and  looked  up.  Standing  just  within  the  room,  and 
bending  forward  to  peer  into  the  gathering  darkness, 
was  a  figure  strangely  like  Retta's.  Was  she  come 
back  to  reproach  him  for  his  cruelty  ? 

"  Surely  that  is  you  over  there  in  the  chair,"  the 
voice  continued,  and  the  figure  came  nearer,  "  but  it 
is  so  dark  that  I  can't  half  see." 

Those  matter- of  fact  tones,  that  tangible  shape — 
they  could  not  belong  to  a  denizen  of  the  spirit  world. 
Could  it  be  Retta  herself?  Retta,  alive  and  un 
harmed?  Just  as  Myron  asked  himself  this  question, 
while  he  still  stared  vacantly  at  the  advancing  figure, 
a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder — a  warm,  flesh  and 
blood  hand — and  Myron,  filled  with  a  sudden  estatic 
happiness,  caught  his  wife  to  his  breast,  as  she  ex 
claimed  : 

"  You  dear  boy  !     Why  don't  you  speak  to  me?" 

For  a  few  moments  he  could  not  command 
his  voice.  He  could  only  hold  Retta  in  a  close  em 
brace,  and  shower  kisses  upon  her  brow  and  cheek 
and  lips,  while  his  frame  shook  with  emotion. 

And  she,  touched  and  surprised  by  his  unwonted 
demonstrativeness,  freely  returned  his  endearments. 

"  Then  you  were  not  killed  by  the  Indians?  "  at 
last  he  ejaculated. 

"  Killed  by  the  Indians?  No,  indeed.  Did  you 
think  so  ?  Oh,  my  dear  boy  !  " 


—  i86  — 

"  Was  not  the  Whitcomb  party  attacked? " 

"  Mercy,  I  hope  not ;  but  I  don't  know,  for  I  did 
not  come  with  them." 

"  Not  come  with  them  ?  "  and  Myron  gazed  in  as 
tonishment. 

"  No.  I  was  intending  to,  up  to  the  first  minute, 
but  we  met  your  friend,  George  Norcross,  and  his 
wife  and  sister,  who  had  been  out  to  Tres  Alamos, 
and  affected  a  change.  You  see  he  was  obliged  to  go 
to  the  Turquoise  district,  on  business,  on  the  way 
back  to  Bonanza,  andyou  know  I  have  often  ex 
pressed  a  wish  to  see  that  camp,  so,  as  his  wife  had 
been  there  several  times,  and  was  a  great  crony  of 
Mrs.  Whitcomb's,  she  said  she  had  much  rather  take 
my  place  with  them,  and  I  got  into  the  buggy  with 
him  and  Louise." 

"And  didn't  you  see  any  Indians  ?" 

"  Not  one,  and  we  didn't  know  there  was  an  out 
break  until  we  got  to  Turquoise.  A  messenger  had 
just  informed  the  miners  of  it.  We  thought  we  had 
better  get  back  to  Bonanza  as  quickly  as  we  could, 
and  we  kept  our  eyes  open  on  the  way,  I  can  tell  you. 
But,  as  you  see,  we  arrived  here  in  safety.  George 
drove  right  to  the  house  and  set  me  down." 

She  evidently  had  heard  nothing  of  the  massacre, 
so  Myron  broke  the  intelligence  to  her,  adding  that 


—  i87- 

it  was  just  possible  it  might  be  some  other  party,  but 
not  probable. 

Nor  was  it.  The  next  day  the  mutilated  bodies 
of  the  Whitcombs  and  their  friends  were  brought 
into  Bonanza,  and  the  hearts  of  the  populace  were 
filled  with  commiseration  and  indignation  at  the  sad 
spectacle, — the  devilish  work  of  the  craftiest  and 
cruelist  of  savages  How  long, — was  the  appeal 
of  every  heart,  —  how  long  must  we  endure 
this  murderous  race  in  our  midst?  How  long 
will  they  be  gathered  together,  in  the  heart  of 
our  territory,  clothed  and  nurtured,  provided  with 
arms  and  ammunition,  and  let  loose  upon  the  unsus 
pecting  people, — only  to  be  taken  back  and  forgiven, 
until  the  bloody  tragedy  is  enacted  over  again  ? 

The  casual  change  described  by  Retta  saved  her 
life,  and  made  Captain  Norcross  an  unhappy  widower. 
Retta  had  the  supreme  pleasure  of  seeing  her  husband 
boldly  write  down  his  unalterable  determination  to 
abstain  henceforth  from  intoxicating  drinks  and  the 
gaming  table.  Myron  never  forgot  that  terrible  day 
when  he  awoke  to  the  consciousness  of  his  peril, — the 
day  when  he  believed  that  all  that  really  made  life 
worth  living  had  been  taken  from  him.  It  was  not 
an  easy  task  that  he  had  set  himself.  But  thoughts  of 
the  dear  ones  at  home,  and  of  the  gift  of  God  that 
was  coming  to  him,  kept  him  steadfast. 


-  i88  - 

When  their  little  son  was  born,  Retta  felt  no 
shame  for  its  father,  and  its  innocent  young  life 
proved  an  effectual  safeguard  to  the  man  who  found 
sobriety  more  pleasurable,  and  dissipation  more  repul 
sive,  as  time  passed  on. 

The  lenegades  were  not  captured,  either  by  the 
soldiers  or  the  volunteers.  They  made  good  their 
escape  across  the  border,  where  they  ensconced  them 
selves  in  strongholds  among  the  mountains.,  indulg 
ing  occasionally  in  the  diversion  of  a  raid  upon  the 
scattered  settlers  of  Sonora. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


7  May  5  3  60 


LD  21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 


YB  7424 


M10543? 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


